


That Mister Sex-On-Legs

by TimeKing



Series: Circus [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aerialist Marco, Dorks in Love, Homophobic Language, I don't even know how to tag properly, Jean In Denial, Jean's dad being an asshole, M/M, Marco's POV, Marco's too good for his own good, More tags to be added, Rating May Change, Student Jean, circus AU, fear of loss triggers, jean's an idiot, poor Marco, strangers to lovers to friends to lovers...?, strong circus family bonds, upcoming Reibert issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeKing/pseuds/TimeKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is an aerialist in the rather small but warm-hearted family that is the Wings of Freedom Circus. But things aren't going the way they are supposed to. De facto things are going down the drain and soon the circus finds itself in a pinch. Either they gather enough money in Trost to save what is left or they have to surrender to their financial crisis. And that's inacceptable for Marco.</p><p>And then there's that Mr. Sex-on-Legs... Jean Kirschstein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I feel sorry for coming up with something like that... honestly. Blame the plotbunnies like I do. I should be working on my other story, still this idea bothered me and I already typed about 4-5 chapters straight away. 
> 
> This is Marco's POV. You can find Jean's POV right here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1426348/chapters/2998015  
> (Someone please show me how to place links into the notes... I'm too dumb for that, obviously! ;A;)
> 
> I'll guess I'll make updates each Wendesday for now... until I'm out of stock. xD 
> 
> I apologize for any errors that may occur. I'm unfortunately no native speaker.
> 
> Please enjoy

„ _A_ _**circus** _ _is a company of performers that may include clowns, acrobats, trained animals, trapeze acts, musicians, hoopers, tightrope walkers, jugglers, unicyclists and other object manipulation and stunt-oriented artists...“_

That's how the wikipedia article of circus begins. There's nothing wrong with this, not really. It's quite a good first sentence to define a circus. Everyone probably knows what to expect when they come across a circus with this first sentence of a definition in mind. It's, frankly put, solid information. Yet...

As precise as definitions are meant to be, they always tend to lack the significant feelings behind the phrase. Not every circus is the same, nor are the people involved.

Wings of Freedom Circus is far more than 'a company of performers'.

I'd like to see us more of a family of various individualists.

All of us share the same passion for the skills we learned to perfect and all of us share a connection between each other that goes far deeper than it would go if we were just 'a company of performers'.

None of us are blood related, none of us are married and none of us share the same last name, either. As traveling folk, we don't even have a permanent home apart from our caravans. But that's irrelevant, isn't it? You don't need all this to feel at home with the people you love. 

Maybe I'm crazy to think like that.

Maybe I'm a bit too attached to the people I work with.

And maybe philosophical questions like that can't be answered by a simple soul who struggled for years to find a place to be, just like I did. Still do.

I know I'm sometimes a bit crazy. Comes with the job description of an aerialist. You have to be at least a tiny bit crazy to seek the thrill of adrenaline pumping through your veins with each drop of your performance.

I know that I'm plenty much attached to my co-workers as well. They're good people, kind people, lovable people. I'd daresay I couldn't live without them, even if sometimes Annie gives me the creeps with her icy stares or if Hanji gets on my nerves with their enthusiasm or if Levi is once again a huge drill-sergeant-dickhead. They mean well and they have their own unique quirks and ways. That's all that matters for me.

As for the simple soul... actually, I'm not that simple. Then again, who is? Every human being is a tad bit complicated in a way. Maybe I'm just simple minded or plain dumb...? After all I never went to high-school or college. Which doesn't exactly mean I'm not educated.

You see, I lost both my parents in a car accident when I was 9 years old.

I started working my ass off when I was 14. 

I left the orphanage the very first day I could afford my own shabby appartment.

Around my 16th Birthday Levi saw me performing in a park. That's how it all started. I can't ever thank him enough for reeling me in.

Hi there. My name is Marco Bodt, I'm 23 now and I'm a silk aerialist at heart. 

 


	2. Chapter 1: Pinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is Marco fearing loss, a desperate mission and a first encounter with Mr. Sex-on-Legs...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wark... long chapter is long.
> 
> Trigger Warning: fear of loss with slight panic attack

Krista is a petite blond girl, the friendliest and kindest I've ever met. She's one year younger than myself and she rarely ever speaks about her past. All I know about it, is, that she used to live on a ranch with her grandparents and had to work hard to keep their business up. They breed horses.

Well, Krista says, they breed horses, I'm fairly convinced that they breed giant monster beasts. There's no way those huge, insanely fast animals in our paddocks are normal horses. And they are kind of the 'tinier', 'more delicate' and 'less fast' misbred ones. They're still giant monster beasts, though, if you ask me. But we could never afford the prices of one of the Renz thoroughbred horses.

There are a lot of things we can't afford.

I'm honest with you. Circus is a rough life and our financial circumstances look black.

"We can't keep her, Krista. I'm truly sorry, but we can't."

With a curry comb in my hands and a zebra – a highly exotic and wild animal, mind you – directly in front of me, I look at Krista's growing downcast expression and feel my chest tightening. I catch Levi's eyes on me and even though he wears the same deadpanned look as always I notice how his shoulders are slumped and how his frown deepened the creases between his eyebrows further.

I can tell he's hating this, telling Krista of all persons that there is no other choice for our survival to sell yet another trained animal to a zoo or a private person with extraordinary taste in pets.

Nanaba is the last of our feline ensemble. A white Bengal tigress.

I can hear the sound of Krista's hiccuping sobs floating over to me and the pang in my chest intensifies. There's not much I can do, though. Neither do I have the money to buy and feed a Bengal tigress, nor can I persuade the managers of Wings of Freedom Circus to reconsider their decision.

I see Krista burying her face into Nanaba's whiskers and I can see the big cat's pink tongue flicking against the blond girl's hand in a soothing kind of gesture. Grooming is a way of socializing and talking in feline ways, that's what Krista told me proudly once, when I was grossed out by Nanaba showing affection by slobbering up my hand.

Our family doesn't include just humans, you know.

Krista and Nanaba are as close as sisters. Thinking about separating those two seems like the cruelest thing in the world for me in that moment... even if it is a necessity.

My grip around the curry comb tightens. Then I feel a soft nudge against my elbow. Startled I forget the heart-breaking scene in front of me for a moment and realize that Buchwald, the zebra, wants to have the apple which is hidden deep down in my coat pocket. I smile slightly by his poor attempt to distract me.

Our animals are kind of sensitive to our emotions, as we're spending a lot of time with them. They'd do the silliest things to lighten up the mood and it actually works. My mind feels much clearer now and I know what I have to do next. As much as it hurts me to see Krista in a state like that and as much as it also affects me that we have to sell Nanaba, Krista is the one in need for comfort, not me.

“You look right through me, huh, buddy?” I say as I rub my knuckles gently over Buchwald's soft nostrils. The small gesture elicits a small, alien whinny from the zebra and I snicker at that. “Silly. At least try to be less obvious. But thanks.” I ruffle his cropped mane before I give him the apple he so desires. Then I leave the box and throw the curry comb into one of the buckets which are filled to the brim with cleaning stuff for horses.

"Look,” I hear Levi say with a frustrated sigh as he runs his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair. “She's going to Dot Pixis, a private person. He's sorta like an old friend of Erwin an that bloke's stinking rich. You know how those stinking rich people are, right? He'll take hella good care of her.."

“She's in good care!” Krista blurts out in a desperate whine that pierces my heart. But it just takes a few more steps for me to bring myself close to her. She flinches slightly as I touch her shoulders and squeeze them.

I make sure to wear a soft smile on my lips as I reach out to rub the tigress' ear and earn myself a pleased growl from the majestic, yet gentle feline. Krista's big blue, red-rimmed eyes look up at me and it becomes significantly harder to keep my smile. They are glazed from all the tears she'd been crying and I know there are more to come.

“Krista, you love Nanaba, don't you?” Of course she nods in affirmation.

She's a natural at dealing with animals. So, it's probably no big surprise that she's our tamer. Any kind of animal learns quickly to love and trust her. It's almost insane. It's a gift.

But, as great a tamer as she is, people aren't that impressed by circus performances with animals any longer. Even though Krista has a special way of handling wild animals, there's just so much one can do with them which people didn't already see before.

And a lot of them deem animal performances as violation to the nature of a supposed-to-be free being. We have always a troupe of Greenpeace activists or PETA members on our heels because of that. It's not like I can't understand their aggression, seriously. Our cages are far smaller than the great savannahs of Africa or even a luxurious compound... yet, I know the way Krista cares for her babies. Such dedication. And I also see what she receives in return. People say animals don't love the way humans do. Maybe they're right, but maybe... I can't stop wondering about the behavior of our animals, then.

I store my thoughts in the back of my mind and collect my breath to keep my voice from wavering, as I pick my words carefully. “Think about the place she'll be going. Probably full of species-appropriate stuff, a vast compound all for herself... oh, and she'll be fed with T-bone Steaks like each and every day, instead of the sinewy, fatty crap, we provide her with. Filthy rich people do this for their pets, you know. They pay huge amounts of money to give them what they want and what they need.” I tenderly rub Nanaba's chin. She paws at me in affection and I almost tear up myself. “All that luxury would make her healthy and happy, don't you think?”

Losing family is something I'm afraid of. Scared of, actually. It's what happens when losing one's parents in young age. I had been nine years old. Too young to fully comprehend the death of my parents, yet too old to forget about them easily. I never forgot, though. I just tend to ban the thoughts about how my mother smelled like cinnamon buns and how the voice of my father laughing sounds into the deepest depth of my mind.

The thought of losing this big, gentle tigress to some filthy rich guy we don't even know stirs my fears. But time taught me to conceal my own emotions behind smiles. _Krista is the one, who needs comfort_ , I remind myself, _not me_.

I feet Levi's burning gaze on me. He is the one of the few who know about the sadness lingering behind my cheerful nature. But he doesn't say a word. So I guess, I picked the right words.

“She's kinda growing thinner...” Krista mumbles, absentmindedly running her tiny fingers through the rough fur of the tigress' pelt.

My cue to go and leave those two a moment of peace.

I leave the stables with more or less confident strides and the clicking of boots against planks tell me that Levi is following suit. I grimace. I know it's unfair. Levi's always been good to me. But my own inner turmoil nags at my sanity and I'd rather not be around anyone when I break down and cry my eyes out of my sockets. That's a pride thing, you know. Manly pride.

The chill autumn air pin-pricks my skin and the beams of the afternoon sun aren't enough to warm the coldness which is spreading inside me. My breath shakes horribly and I have to squint my eyes to blink away the tears that blur my vision. When my heart starts beating rapidly and the familiar clenching of nausea washes over me, I have to stop in my track abruptly and bite down on my knuckles.

Fear of loss, the medics call it, the fear of being alone once again. It's all in my head and it's kind of like a panic attack... just not as much as bad.

“Hey... Marco. Focus on breathing.” Levi's voice isn't tinted with any sort of emotion, but it's calm, unwavering and collected. And that makes it soothing for me. I prefer his professional, deadpan tone at the moment, because I can'thandle sympathy.  


* * *

  
It's four weeks short till winter's break in Trost and Erwin, Levi and Mike made a grave decision. If things continue to go downhill, we won't be able to afford the circus any longer. I know I'm terrified, but moreover I'm petrified.

"Basically we have to attract more people or we're screwed." Levi states nonchalantly and the silence following his words weights heavy on our shoulders. I exchange insecure and worried glances with my equally worried fellow artists, all of them dear family members and the heart of our troupe.

I wish I can pretend that I never saw this coming. But I would have to be blind for that. I know I denied to see the possibility of losing all I worked for for the last six years. Mere ambitions and goodwill aren't enough anymore. We need a solid plan or else... I don't even want to go there.

The thing is, we don't have much left to attract people. Half of our crew quit and left when there was a shortage of payment two month ago. It's still valid. I haven't been payed in half a year, neither have the other remaining crew members.

There's just Bertholdt's snake man act, Reiner's fire-eating, Krista's horse/zebra and small animal Revue, Annie's martial arts tightrope walk, Hanji's low-budget magical tricks and my aerial silk performance left. Nothing more. We even had to sell Petra's steam powered carousel and Auruo's raffle ticket stand two weeks ago for gasoline and electricity bills.

Next thing to be sold will be Eld's shooting range and Gunther's sweets stall. They're already on the list... as well as their owners. It's horrible, frustrating... disillusioning.

Needless to say we always do our best, but there's just so much one can do without proper equipment. We aren't Cirque du fucking Soleil. We don't have all the super-expensive, super-exquisite equipment to work with... all we have is us and our talents... and it's not enough.

"Maybe we should try a different route? Visiting different cities?" I hear Reiner suggest with a scoff. His uncharacteristically defeated tone manages to snap me out of my train of thoughts which suspiciously spiraled down into abysmal depth of my mind's morasses. I am quick to abandon the raising panic and instead focus on the discussion again, hoping beyond hope that there would be solutions for our problems.

I can't think of any. I wish I'd have a helpful idea, but nothing I come up with seems to be useful at all.

Erwin shakes his head, sighing briefly. "No... you know that the locations for this year are already set and there's just Trost left ahead. We can think about a new route for next year's season, if we make it through winter's break, that is."

All of us go silent again, thoughts hovering above our heads like a dark cloud. I desperately wish I would be able to cheer my mates up with a pep talk at the very least. But I don't feel like it... frankly, I don't feel anything but blank and numb right at the moment. Though I can feel that the oppressive silence extends into sombre grief and into wistful hopelessness. We are all lost for words.

Finally Levi breaks the silence by clicking his tongue. "We actually do have a plan. Thing is, it's fucking risky and we might lose more money than earning money with this, but we have absolutely no fucking idea what else to do." Everyone looks up at the short conductor with the grim expression. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and his legs rest on the table top, slacking like usual. But his frown is carved deeper in between his eyebrows and his posture appears a little tense. Those are the signs to look for when you ever want to guess what's going on in that mind of his. Without further explanation he conjures a piece of paper from his pants pocket and throws it at the gathered artists, namely us.

It's Annie who's catching the snippet and looking at it first. "Coupons?" Her facial expression or tone doesn't betray much of what is going on in her mind, but she seems fairly surprised or confused or irritated. I openly admit I cannot tell Annie's emotions apart very well.

"'Pay once and bring a second person for free'...?" I read out loud, curiously glancing over her shoulder like everyone else. "Ain't those our Valentine's Day Special promotion coupons? You don't honestly plan to-?"

"We're doomed." I hear Bertholdt beside me mutter under his breath, sounding like he already gives up hope. It stings in my chest to admit it, but I cannot blame him. This idea of our managers isn't only risky it's somewhat of a last resort. Two persons for one price... it sounds like downfall, even though I understand where they come from. If we get the big top filled to the bursting point on a regular basis, then we may have a chance.

"I know," Erwin begins, rising to his feet in a fleeting movement, "I know that this sounds like we are desperate and I'm not going to lie to you by saying that we aren't. We are indeed desperate. The circus is running on low budget. As you all are very aware, we were unable to pay you for quite some time and unfortunately this won't change anytime soon. If things get worse in Trost we won't even be able to pay for electricity... food... water... we are in a pinch." With a heavy pause of words he emphasizes his statement. "However, we will raise our ticket prices by 50 percent, we will use those coupons to trick people into believing they get more for less money and we want you artists to promote those coupons personally in crowded places - malls, schools, kindergartens, university campus, townscenter... I'm sure you get the idea. We want you to perform in public as far as it is possible to raise the attention and we want you to directly interact with the civilians of Trost to reel them in. Make them feel welcome, invited, special at best, tempt them, if you must, because, if we fail you know what happens."

"That's so not going to work." Annie states bitterly as she flips the paper back to the senior's side of the table, earning herself a glare from Levi.

“It has to work. It has to.” I say, without actively intending to. Everyone's attention is on me now and I shrink into my seat as I cover my mouth before my panic stricken mind can spill any more nonsense.

Annie doesn't argue. In fact, she remains quiet for the rest of the conversation. Bertholdt starts massaging my tense shoulders gently after a while and Reiner squeezes my hand which is shaking violently on top of my knee beneath the table. I blink back tears again and relax as Krista gives me a reassuring, genuine smile.

 _'You're not alone. We're in this together.'_ , her blue eyes say. _'We'll sort this out._ '

I want to believe her. I really do.

 

* * *

   
The sun hasn't even fully set yet, basking our circus grounds in colors of flaming red and gold. There aren't any stars out yet apart from the evenstar, I notice, but the air is already rather crisp for September. Instinctively wrapping my arms around my torso, I brace myself against the cold and march forward.

As soon as I reach the fireplace, though, I am covered in snug warmth again. I even go so far as to remove my sweater five minutes after sitting down beside Reiner who has his acoustic guitar in his hands and starts to play some lose accords on the strings.

I watch as Erwin leaves his caravan, Levi idly trotting beside him. The latter settles down on a log beside Hanji and by the look on his face he is utterly displeased by their ongoing rambling about their newest tricks. As far as I am involved they plan on doing something _'incredibly magical'_ with their beloved Flemish Giant rabbits Sawney and Bean. Ever seen a rabbit as big as a Shetland Sheepdog? Those are Flemish Giants.

Why do we only have giant animals, I wonder?

Whatever...

Moblit, Hanji's assistant, sits on her other side and rolls his eyes. He tries his best to calm their enthusiasm, to no success, of course. No one is able to tame Hanji once they got into rambling; they sort of were like an avalanche of words and freaky gestures.

I smile at Levi's attempts to try and not listen to her, but I can see how his features soften with her never ending enthusiasm. He's such a thick head at times.

And then Annie shoves some bottle of questionable content into my lap, while going so far as to snuggle up into my right side. I'm slightly startled (or rather freaked out) by her behavior – I mean, Annie and snuggling is kinda creepy – until I notice her menacing gaze on me.

And click, now I get it.

I'm no psychologist. Not at all. But sometimes I just know how people's personalities work according to their actions. Annie is a hard nut to crack, though. It took me quite a while to figure her out. Frankly, I don't even know if I'm right at all regarding her. She's a bit contradictory at times.

Hence, I guess her intimidation act is her weird way of showing people around her that she cares. She intimidates them into being happier or to do something to become happy. Ah damn. I'm sorry... I swear it sounded so much more thought-out in my head.

"Drink." She commands, unwittingly confirming my assumptions. It sounds like there's a hidden _'or else...'_ behind her threat, so I don't hesitate another second. She is endearing in a way, yes, but at the same time she gives me chills. Under her watchful eyes, I take a big, manly sip from the bottle... and almost spit the liquid all out again.

Fire Whiskey.

I'm choking and coughing all the way through the process of swallowing. God it burns... it burns so freaking much! I can barely breath. Damn. "Ugh... godfuckingdamnit."

Immediately I toss the Bottle of Evil Booze (Yes, it deserves capitalization.) to Reiner. "Marco, dude, you're cussing! You never cuss." Now he actually sounds proud like a parent. "And your face! It's just alcohol, not piss." he finishes between his chuckling and I frown at him irritatedly.

"It certainly does taste like piss, though." I counter and for a second I believe it's a smart reply. But the soft chuckles coming from the bulky, blonde artist crescendoing into loud guffawing laughter tells me I somewhat failed miserably. Bertholdt who sits on Reiner's left side is actually tactful enough to slap his boyfriend's shoulder and cast an apologetic smile at me. But I can clearly see the hidden amusement sparkling in his eyes. Dicks... both of them.

"Atta boy." Annie comments indifferently and ruffles my hair before she walks off again to pester someone else with her presence.

Even though I'm slightly irritated by my friends deliberately picking on me, I can't keep a smile from my lips. I feel content around them and that just leaves me in cheerful bliss. Or maybe I already have too much alcohol running through my veins. Who knows... can't hold my liqueur very well.

Reiner finally starts playing actual songs on his guitar and Krista is the first to sing along with that clear, angelic voice of hers. Soon Bertholdt joins in with a vibrant humming tinting his low baritone voice and it doesn't take long from there for the rest of us to follow suit. I can even see Levi moving his lips once or twice, when parts of the songs become specifically catchy.

I'm sure we sound horrible as chants sung by drunken men and women continue until late at night. No one of us apart from Krista and Bertholdt can actually carry a tune.

Well, at least I believe it scares off thugs and thieves, as much as any other person with aural senses. And that's something positive. Also, we do have fun. There's laughter in between, there's joking around and playing pranks and there's shameless, carefree dancing. It's a typical family night at the circus. All fears and worries are forgotten for the time being. We just party hard and we enjoy our lives.

And it's perfectly perfect.

 

* * *

   
Five days later we settle down in Trost for upcoming winter's break. After one long and hard day of setting up the big top and arranging the stables, stalls and caravans according to Erwin's wishes, we are immediately send off on our promotion mission.

Bertholdt and I are assigned for the university campus, handing out coupons to mere passersby, profs and students alike. The more people we attract the better.

Bertholdt is the one performing. It's a pity, but it's near to impossible to show off my aerial act without any aerial silk. On the other hand it's also near to impossible to get Bertholdt into smooth talking with people. He tries. God, he tries for the sake of the circus. It just can't be helped that he, despite being tall and toned, is afraid of talking to strangers; especially when they come in crowds. He's just that kind of sensitive, gentle soul.

Beads of sweat run down his temples and cheeks and I silently wonder if it's due to the exertion of his performance or if it's because of the people surrounding him drawing closer and unknowingly penetrating his comfort zone. But we're doing pretty good so far. Not everyone's interest, of course.

Most of the charming folk that calls themselves students point with fingers at us, laugh and call us _'those fags in glitter dresses'_. Probably fraternity people. Those always are dumber than the regular students it seems. I simple ignore those idiots and so does Bertholdt.

But a lot of girls are interested. Mainly in us, obviously. And mainly in touching our biceps and abs. It's not that bad, actually, even though neither of us is interested in girls. They're harmless and just a bit touchy-feely is all. I can live with that as long as their fangirlism over our bodies doesn't evolve into harrassment and as a long as it kind of triggers successfully selling tickets of our show.

“How does a date sound, sexy?” One of our fangirls, a specifically straightforward one asks while I hand her one of our coupons.

I never had problem with talking to people. It's the first thing you learn in an orphanage: Presenting yourself to your potentially parents-to-be. And the nice autumn weather kind of invites me to be flirtatious. Sometimes it's just better to say nothing at all, to leave space for interpretation and just give mere hints.

So, I silently give her my trademark most charming and endearing smile and add some well-balanced amount of modest sheepishness into the bowl. It's an _'aim-to-getting-laid expression on my angelic face',_ at least that's what Reiner said once. Naturally, I perfected it. It kind of works on girls, too. I just never figured out why exactly.

Well, it is definitely enough to fluster the straightforward girl and make her retreat.

"Oh my god, Connie, look at them! Look at them! Wings of Freedom Circus is back in town!" I raise my head as I hear a high-pitched squeal coming from my left. "Marcoooo! Berthoooooldt!" A brunette girl with a bouncing ponytail exclaims, waving her arm at us excitedly, surging through the crowds and rushing over. Her none-waving hand holds a firm grip around the wrist of an almost bald headed, rather short boy.

I have never seen those people in my life ever before.

Exchanging a quick glance with a shrugging Bertholdt, I realize that neither does he have the slightest who they are. Why did they greet us like we were friends then...? Are those two fans...? Stalkers?

"H-hey," I stutter, flashing a huge broadcast smile and trying my best to keep that tang of uncertainty from my voice as I turn towards the brunette haired girl. She beams at me with so much adoration reflecting in her eyes that I actually can't keep myself from smiling broader... even though I still think that her approach is kind of creepy. I open my mouth again to ask whether we have met before, as another voice cuts in, startling me.

"Oi, Sash! You can't memorize a goddamn mathematical formula, but you remember the name of some fucking circus clowns?! Newsflash, you're priorities suck big!"

It is rough.

And rich.

And it sounds rather pissed.

Did he just call us 'fucking circus clowns'?

Oh, damn, I don't care. His voice sounds sexy...

Goosebumps spread across my skin like instantly and my heart beats staccato in my chest. Love at first tone? Sounds ridiculous, huh? But, boy, do I have a voice fetish. Seriously. It's unhealthy. (Especially when you picture a face around the way a voice sounds and get disappointed by the actual result. Hey, I'm by far no shallow person, but I do have certain standards. And there is no greater disappointment than realizing that the face behind a voice is just about 40 years older than yourself and wrinkled up like a oak tree's bark. Don't judge me.)

I know I stare. I'm pretty aware of that. And I know there is no such thing as love at first sight (or tone)... but damn... I'm not even considering such innocent thoughts right now. He's just some hot piece of ass and he pushes his way through the crowd like he owns this place. Such a sassy bad ass.

His voice resembles exactly his features; rough, sharp and feral. He has a two-toned undercut, his top hair being a sandy colored blondish tone and the bottom shaved parts a nice mocha. His face is pointed and prominently sharp-edged, especially around his high cheekbones and nose and chin. his amber colored cat-like eyes are striking. I bother my bottom lip now.

He's dressed in snug denim jeans and a simple black shirt, beneath a forest green flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I can see one of those silvery dog tag necklaces dangling in front of his chest and there are several rivet-studded leather straps wrapped around his wrists. I nod in approval as I shamelessly eye him up and down. Yup, he's definitely got style.

This guy, whatever his name is. is the epitome of sex on legs.

Judging by the low chuckle from beside me, I must look like a lovesick fool to Bertholdt who is now standing beside me and wears the most unnerving of knowing grins on his thin lips. He nudges my shoulder comradely. His gaydar is totally on.

Did his lips just silently form the words _'get him tiger'_?

I blush and slap his shoulder. That prick. Making me look like a fool in public and – more importantly – in front of my prospective hookup. I'm sure, I will never hear the end of it, when Bertholdt's shoulders start shaking from silent laughter.

"But Jean, that's Marco Bodt." The girl, previously called 'Sash' (which I guess is the diminutive of the name _Sasha_ ) pouts, almost sounding accusing that her friend, ohpleasedon'tlethimbeyourboyfriend, obviously never heard of my name before. Yeah, how could you not have heard about me before, Jean? Shame on you.

Jean... So Sex-on-legs' name is Jean, huh? French...

Hm... I wonder if he can talk dirty to me in French with that voice of his.

_Jeez! Focus, Bodt!_

"Huh...?" he says. Well, seems like he ain't the most eloquent of people.

"He's the best aerial silk artist ever!"

"Eh...?" Yeah, I know what you think now; that's it for the eloquence part. I snap out of my daydreams of me having some Jean's voice porn and blush. I sheepishly run my hand over the nape of my neck and splutter something about _'there are better artists than me'_ and _'No, that's too much of an honour'_. And Bertholdt's still shaking beside me from silent laughter. He's having way too much fun on my account today.

"Yeah, no shitting you, man!” The almost baldy pipes up, completely ignoring my earlier complaints. “And Bertholdt Hoover is such a bad ass contortionist." I recall his name is Connie, if I'm not gravely mistaken. That Sash-girl mentioned it previously... I think.

_Hehe..._

As expected, Bertholdt now has his own fair share of blushing and, judging by the look of it, he feels even more flustered than me. And he even winces a bit. I sometimes wish I'd be more of an ass to actually enjoy his misery, but I feel my sympathy-level for him grow and shoot him a smile instead of laughing at him. Even though he'd deserve it. Most of the times he's too good to me to honestly feel gleeful.

But I ain't a saint. "If you think he's great in the circus ring, you should see the positions he's in when he awakes in the morning. Those are spectacular." That earns myself a rather painful nudge in the ribcage by his elbow, but the comment was so worth it.

Those strange, yet likeable weirdos, Connie and Sasha, blink at each other and suddenly burst into a giggling fit.

Sex-on-le... I mean, Jean(!) doesn't seem to be in such an exhilarated mood, though. He merely rolls his eyes at them and crosses his arms in front of his chest, before he turns towards us. As cliche as it may sound but my heart skips a beat as his tawny eyes lock with mine for a split second. It's not cliche though that I want to nail him right on spot. No romantic intentions, remember? Just feral desires.

It kind of makes me appear like some savage beast in heat... or worse, a hormone-driven teenager.

But yeah... there's one little problem about relationships, when you're a circus artist: You never settle down. Moving across the country all the time, never staying longer in one place than for 2-3 weeks. Long distance relationships are one thing, keeping romantically attached to a constantly wayfaring artist is another.

But that's the life I want. I'm not complaining.

Eh, but don't get me wrong. I like romance, I'm even a tad bit envious about Reiner and Bertholdt's relationship... I'd love to have that kind of romance in my life. But just let's be fair and honest: If you were asked to join a bunch of circus artists after two weeks of dating, would you seriously consider to leave everything behind and tag along? See? It's better to just look for hookups, so that no hearts will break.

"...those two are buggering you guys just tell them off. Be strict or they won't learn how to behave." he scoffs pointing his thumb back at the giggling couple.

Oh, his voice should be illegal.

I ban the naughty thoughts into the back of my mind and let his words sink in. He didn't just... did he? I emit a wave of soft chuckles, quickly evolving into hiccuping giggles and erupting into full-fledged laughter. So, apart from being sexy Jean also is funny? How unfair is that? That's clearly too much of a temptation.

"H-hahahaha... no offense, but, hehehehe, that's quite a rude thing to say... hahahahah... about other people, especially friends. They... pffff... they ain't dogs, you know. You can't train the-hehehe... them like that." How uncool of me.

"Exactly, man." Connie points out, his eyes sparkling at me with gratitude as he slaps Jean's arm with the back of his right hand, before pointing his index finger at him like he was about to scold a child. "You're the one who needs to behave, Jean. We're good."

“Shuddup.” Jean seems hardly impressed as he rolls his eyes at him and shrugs. I notice him rubbing his hand over the reddening spot on his arm where Connie smacked him.

And suddenly I remember why I'm here. Right, I'm on a mission. Neither of those guys has a coupon in their hands. That needs to be corrected.

"Jean, right?" I start and instantly have his attention on me. Blush. Wonderful. "I-It's nice to meet you. I'm Marco, a-as you already know.” _'Quit the stammering, Bodt. Just smile and be confident. You know how that works.'_ “I assure you Bertholdt and I are flattered that somebody actually knows our names and is so eager to meet us in person. So no harm done." I walk towards the extroverted pair, before handing each of them a coupon. "Thanks, Connie and... uh, Sasha, right?" I just know my wild guess from earlier is indeed a bull's eye hit, as I watch the brunette's smile increase and her head bob up and down in a frantic nod. I smile back at her, not my broadcast smile any longer but a truly genuine one. "You are very welcome to visit our circus performance. There's a special discount, if you have those coupons. Pay for one ticket and bring another person for free." I smile and turn around to face Jean again, conjuring another coupon for him. "You are invited, too, of course. Unless you're too cool for 'fucking circus clowns'...?" I question, tilting my head slightly to the side.

I'm pretty proud about my words, when Jean starts stuttering. “F-fuck! Hey, I d-didn't mean... I didn't mean it like that, okay?” He snatches the coupon from my hand, eyebrows furrowing as he first stares down at it and then back up at me again. My smile never faltered one bit. "I'll think about it, Mr. Aerial-Silk-Artist." He says, smirking confidently. It kind of smoothens his frown a bit.

"Marco, remember? Just call me Marco." I offer, rocking back and forth on my bales in a nervous habit.

He opens his mouth. From the look on his face he's either about to make a snarky or a cocky remark. But he snaps his mouth shut almost instantly again, eyebrows moving back into their accustomed frowning position. Before I can do so much as ask what is wrong, he nestles in his pockets for his mobile phone and takes a quick glance at the illuminated display. His face derails completely now.

"Holy flying fuck. Sasha!" Without further explanation he turns around on his heel and grabs Sasha by the fabric of her shirt. She emits a squeaky 'eep'-sound, but Jean ignores it deliberately, while dragging her along. And he curses. "We've got five fucking minutes until we're supposed to be back in our CAD class and hold that shitty presentation. Move your fucking fat ass!"

"You're so mean, Jean!" She protests at first, flailing and tumbling backwards as Jean drags her along. Then her face goes all pale. "Five minutes, you say?! We'll never..." The rest of their conversation gets lost in in the pitter-patter of voices on the broad campus grounds.

"Well, thanks for the coupons, dude! See ya in the ring!" Connie bellows and waves goodbye as he rushes after his friends.

I sigh, being just a little bit disappointed by their sudden disappearance.

Bertholdt behind me tries his hardest to hide his chuckles behind a coughing fit. I smack his arm with a smirk. "Get back to work, you twit."

"You too, horny dork." he says.

Oh... crap, I'm really too obvious.


	3. Chapter 2: Premiere Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is Bertholdt and Reiner being big teases, a training session and a weeping boy at premiere night...

There's one thing I didn't tell you about Reiner and Bertholdt yet. They work in packs. Whatever Bertholdt knows, Reiner will soon know it, too, and vice versa. I'm not saying that they are gossip folk. They can keep secrets to themselves. It's just that they are so close they can't keep secrets from each other. It's pretty unnerving at times... especially since I consider them to be the worst teases gracing the planet.

So, it doesn't exactly surprise me, when I enter the circus ring with my new silk in tow to start my training session that both of them have the smuggest expressions written all over their faces.

“Quit smugging me, you big jerks.” I quip with a grin and point my index finger at them. “I have the right to remain silent.”

“Smugging isn't a word, Marco.” Reiner chuckles and comes over, his juggling clubs in one hand and a longsword in the other. “And we'll tickle the info out of you sooner or later.”

I snort and bother myself with untangling the silk and deliberately turn my back on him as he approaches. “Oh, but it is a word.” I inform. “It defines your way of being waaay-too-nosy dicks whenever you pry into my affairs. And I'm not telling you anything about Jean. There isn't much to tell anyway.”

“Oh, Jean it is, huh?” Reiner stores his equipment into his box, neatly wrapping the longsword in a velvet cloth, before closing the lid. As he turns his full attention on me again, his grin broadens. “French, huh? _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi_?”

There he goes. I groan internally as he wiggles his eyebrows at me. When I throw him my patented 'I'm not amused'-look, he merely breaks into full-fletched laughter, before he walks to the crank and winds it counterclockwise to bring down the swivel for me. I hear Bertholdt chuckle from my side but choose to ignore him. Those two annoying teases.

“Don't let Reiner get to you.” He says and nudges his elbow playfully into my ribs. “Just admit it. You've got the hots for that student.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I chuckle and swat at his arm. “Now let me work on this. Levi's gonna kill me when he shows up and I'm not done with preparation.”

I start to fix the silk on the carabiner of the swivel, carefully double-checking if everything is according to safety protocol. I'm always doing this myself. Not that I wouldn't trust the others to do this for me, but, if something were to happen during one of my performances, I wouldn't want them to blame themselves.

As soon as I am done, I release the silk from my hands and Reiner winds the crank again, this time clockwise and the silk unfurls as the swivel lifts up high to the tent's ceiling. This one's intriguing. And dramatic in a way. It's gradienting from pale yellow on the top down to a deep and rich crimson on the bottom. Like fire, I think and smile.

Reiner whistles in apprehension. “Is this the one for the new aerial act? You already plan on doing this tomorrow?”

I nod my head. “Yeah... we want to impress Trost, right? So I have to give it my very best.”

I catch Bertholdt looking at the height. His lips are pressed into a thin line and his jaw is clenched. It's kind of funny that the tallest guy of our troupe (apart from Mike) is actually afraid of heights. He turns his gaze towards Reiner who's currently collecting his items from the floor, before he looks at me.

“Are you sure about the final drop?” he asks, concern written all over his face. “It seems so... dangerous. And, no offense, but last time I saw you practicing it Levi was far from pleased by your recklessness.”

“Well we call it _'killer spin drop'_ for a reason.” I chirp with a reassuring smile on my lips. “Don't worry. I think I'll do fine. And I know the audience will love it.”

Right. The killer spin drop – as awful as the name may sound – is a risky one, no matter how confident I sound. Practically it includes me dropping from the uppest heights of my silk to the lowest lows acceptable. Which is one meter above ground. It's like 10 meters and basically makes me spin around my own axis in an almost free fall. You cannot imagine the thrill.

Levi, my trainer and former silk aerialist of this circus, worked on it. This happened, of course, before the incident with his ankle occurred, leaving him unable to perform any longer without risking his life. He's still suffering from that, especially when the weather gets humid. There are no other days one will see that stubborn man limping. Too proud, they say. I never heard the story behind it, but I can sometimes see the longing in his eyes when he looks at the silk. Levi misses the thrill of being an aerialist.

“Just be careful.” Bertholdt replies, looking at the tremendous height again like it's a direct threat to him. He doesn't seem to be all too convinced by my earlier words, but he doesn't say another word and helps Reiner cleaning up his props. Meanwhile I start warming up my stiff muscles with some cardio and yoga.

Soon after Levi appears in the ring, a stereo in his hand and his trademark deadpan expression on his face. He places the stereo on the ring fence and comes back to wrap his fingers around the silk, giving it some experimental tugs, before nodding in approval. He always does that before training sessions and I appreciate that he cares. He may appear rough at first glance, but he's actually got a soft spot for each and everyone of us.

"Alright then, brat. Get your shitty Dying-Swan-ass over here and practice." I smile at his choice of words and get myself into position. Always the charmer. His boots click over the spotless ground, before he seats himself on the narrow ring fence beside the stereo, crossing his legs.

Bertholdt and Reiner take their seats in the first row of our orchestra. So, they plan to watch me practice. It's making me kind of nervous. I've never performed this specific aerial act completely from the beginning to the end before. As if on clue, Reiner gives me thumbs up and I smile timidly.

Then the music starts playing soft and calm, I close my eye and inhale deeply, before I step forward gracefully, arms swaying through the air for my entrance. A side-step to the right. Sway – like blades of grass in the wind. Then the same combination to the left. The melody is still soft and calm, a chorus in the background humming the theme of the tenth Doctor.

My smile grows more confident as I let the music embrace me, let it guide my steps as I begin to tell the story of Ten without a single word.

Yes, I picked this suite of Dr. Who. And, yes, I'm a nerd, I know. Levi rolled his eyes at me at first when I came up with this idea. But it's Dr. Who! It's popular and the soundtrack suite is beautiful. I got Levi convinced, so, shush.

When the music starts crescendoing I turn around, take a run and use the momentum to leap into the air, grabbing the silk to make it swing in an eclipse, while I wrap my left foot into the fabric and stretch my arms. I feel the air brushing through my hair and smile even broader. This moment of freedom as I fly through the air the first couple of minutes is indescribable.

I dance and rig my way upwards, adding poses here and there, spread my legs, bend my body and flip upside down. I may not be as flexible as Bertholdt, but certainly as flexible as an exotic dancer. The music gets more dramatic as the minutes pass by. I take up Ten's hectic nature as well as his aptitude for insane maneuvers and his compassion towards humans and alien species alike. My movements adjust to the rhythm: Calm and controlled at the beginning, longing and almost sensual as the melody of “This is Gallifrey” resonates, brisker and more demanding in the middle parts of the suite. And finally as the first tone of the Master's theme sounds through the air, erratic, fierce and hard.

The music calms down again after that, gets sadder and more tragic. I rig the silk to the top and start draping it, quickly but cautious around my thigh, torso and finally my ankle.

There is no time for hesitation as I let go of the silk I grab with my hand and drop.

I spin through the air and stretch my arms wide, before bringing them up to the front as I fall and fall, just like the Doctor who falls apart before his regeneration kicks in. Apart from his comrades, alone and scared.

I vaguely hear gasps coming from Reiner and Bertholdt. The ground comes closer and closer and the adrenaline pumps through my veins, until, with the last tone of this sequence of the song, I come to an abrupt stop, arms and legs stretched in a spread eagle pose. Death.

I can hear Reiner's catcalls and cheers and Bertholdt's applause. Grinning broadly I lift myself up once again reborn as the eleventh Doctor. I spin crazy pirouettes, do splits and crane my body into poses, before I slip back to the ground and fall into a dramatic ending pose. As the music stops.

“Bravo! Bloody fucking amazing, dude!” Reiner exclaims.

“Encore!” Bertholdt chimes in with a proud smile on his lips.

I'd chuckle if I weren't completely out of breath by now. I rise to my feet and bow to the audience, before sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. “Thanks, guys.” I wheeze and snatch the bottle of mineral water.

"Was it good?" I question between gulps, grinning like an idiot, as both of them approach me.

Reiner slaps my back comradely, making me topple over and spilling water on the floor from the sheer force of it. Bertholdt catches me, before I hit the ground, and wraps his long arms around me to pull me into a breath-taking hug. I don't need to hear him tell me that he's glad I came out of my performance unharmed.

Reiner beams at me. "Good? _Good_ , Marco? This was... I already said, you were bloody ama-"

"Don't spoil him. It was mediocre at best." Levi interrupts harshly. "Your timing was shitty and your poses were so stiff at times that I'd say you had a broomstick stuck up your ass.” He scoffs, before his tense features soften. “The drop was good though, and your expression is still stunning as ever..."

Bertholdt lets go off me, as my grumpy trainer tosses a towel over my head.

"You are being unfair, Levi. He was doing great and yo-" Reiner starts, but I silence him with a shake of my head and a smile. As much as I appreciate Reiner and Bertholdt's encouragement, Levi is the expert. If he says I was mediocre, then I was mediocre.

"I'm sorry, Levi. I promise I'll do better now." I take a swift sip from the water bottle, wipe my sweaty face clean and position myself once again.

I can do this.  


 

* * *

  
Krista, Annie, Reiner, Bertholdt and I sit on bales of straw in a circle in the stables enjoying our sparse dinner. It's not much, just a diluted stew, a loaf of bread and an apple for each, hardly enough to please our raging stomachs, but better than nothing.

"I seriously don't believe that our plan will actually work." Reiner grumbles. “Those kids in the kindergartens we visited today weren't all too enthusiastic about a circus in town.”

"Have faith, Reiner. Director Erwin always seems to know what kind of plans provide the best outcome." Krista says, but the merry trill which is usually attached to her voice is missing. Then again, she still assimilates the loss of Nanaba.

I sigh. We are tired and hungry and all of us want to know what to expect for the future. Our mood hits rock bottom. “Hey, can I ask you something guys?” I question and look up at my mate's downcast faces.

“Shoot.” Annie says, dropping the spoon into her empty bowl.

I dread the answer, but I have to know. "What would you guys do, if it doesn't work out...? I mean, Erwin's plan."

Annie shrugs. She's the first to answer. "My dad's still waiting for me to return. He's got a dojo, I could work there." Her voice seems uninterested. But she is still here with us here in the circus, so she probably cares more than she likes to admit. I think she once told us that she's not exactly on friendly terms with her father. But that's about all I know.

"Bertl and I would settle down in our hometown, I guess." Reiner speaks up next. “We already saved enough money to buy a small apartment. And it wouldn't be all too hard to get me a job as a workman or something of that sort, s'pose.”

"Yes, it would be nice to settle down there." Bertholdt adds and smiles softly. "We talked this over for years. A-and I could work as an office clerk in my dad's company. Yeah. I think I could do that."

Krista nods and hums. "I'd return to my grandparent's ranch, taking care of the horses there and giving some riding lessons. It's not the best option, but if there's no other way... What about you, Marco?"

Everyone has a place they could go to... of course. _You knew they have places, unlike you. Why did you even have to ask?_ I scrape up the last bits of my stew with stoic precision.

"No idea." I reply truthfully and as per usual I conceal my growing fear with a smile. “I'll figure it out eventually, I guess.”

None of them says a word, as I stand up and gather their empty bowls to bring them back to the canteen. I avoid their gazes, just in case...

After all I don't want to bother them with my silly problem.  


 

* * *

  
The next day passes by quickly and soon the night of our premiere in Trost is upon us. Our circus grounds are lidded by the soft illuminations of uncountable yellowish fairy lights and the air smells sweet of popcorn and cotton candy. Children's laughter mixes with the circus music pouring down from loud speakers which are set up almost everywhere possible, currently blaring Ricky Martin's “Copa de la Vida”. The cooing of couples and rooting of adolescents trying to prize at our shooting range make my heart flutter in excitement. It' not just families coming here today!

I know not all of them will probably stay and watch the show. It's never like that. But we haven't seen so many people on our circus grounds for a long time. So, I cannot keep myself from the rising hope as I samba-walk my way through the crowd with a huge grin on my lips. Just like the dork I am.

To say I'm nervous is the understatement of the century. But it doesn't really matter at the moment. I feel so giddily thrilled that I can't keep myself from scanning the crowd for a certain two-toned guy. Maybe he's here today? That would make premiere night all the more perfect. I feel my face heating up at the realization.

Just then a small siren starts howling up in heartbreaking sobs, tiny hands wrapped around the cord of a white helium balloon with our circus' name and our emblem printed on and it stops me dead in my track. I look at a dishwater blond boy a few steps away from me, anxiously searching around.

"Mommaaaaaaaa~" the forlorn boy wails, thick tears running down his chubby cheeks. Oh dear, poor child. Things like this happen in crowded places. Instantly I take pity on him. He can't be older than seven.

With as gentle a smile as I can muster I kneel down to bring myself on eye level with him, gently ruffling his soft hair and making him aware of my presence. "Hey there, buddy. I'm Marco. What's your name, hm?"

He sniffles a few times, stubbornly raising his free hand to wipe the tears away. "B-Borith... Borith Feulner." He sobs and my heart almost throbs from the cuteness of how he lisped the 's'.

"Okay Boris. Don't cry anymore, hm? Let's see. You wanna come with me watch our cool animals over there with my dear friend Krista, while I go get your mom?" I coo.

There's one thing to avoid, when dealing with kids getting lost in the crowd. Never ever mention that you don't have the slightest idea of their parents' whereabouts. It'll kind of destroy them in a way and make them wail even louder. Trust me, I've made that kind of mistake plenty times before.

He sniffs again looking sceptically at the upturned palm of my hand I'm offering him. Oh well, that one certainly got told to not trust strangers. Good thing.

“It's okay, Boris, I'm part of the crew here. You can trust me.”

After a moment of hesitation he finally nods and actually places his free hand into mine. I give him a reassuring smile and squeeze his hand slightly, before rising to my feet again and leading him towards the stables. All the while his balloon keeps unnervingly bobbing against the back of my head, but for the sake of the kid I don't start complaining. Wouldn't do any good to the little trust Boris has in me.

As we pass on to the calmer private area of the circus the little rascal stops here and there, gawking at my fellow artists who are training a bit before the show starts.

I curtly wave at Reiner who is currently twirling two batons with ends on fire through the air as we pass him by. He winks at me and then raises one eyebrow questioningly as he spots the little boy who's looking at him with huge eyes.

“You were in my kindergarten yethterday.” Boris lisps and points shamelessly at the big blonde.

Reiner chuckles. “Yeah, right, thanks for coming. You're friends with Marco, dude?”

The boy looks up at me and nods eagerly before looking back at the fire-breather. “Yeah, He'th gonna show me the animalth.” he beams. “He'th cool.”

“ _Super_ -cool.” Reiner augments, if only to tease me. “Do me a favor, little man, will ya? Take good care of him while you're at it. Marco's the best.” He winks at the little boy and contently dwells a moment in the effect he caused on me with that statement. I suppose my face is red all over again. That smug. Damn him and his teasing. He knows that I can't handle compliments.

“Thure.” Boris pipes up, proudly expanding his tiny chest. What a cutie.

“Well, buddy, we've gotta go there before the show starts.” I pick the little rascal up on my arms, deciding that carrying him will be easier and faster. He wraps his tiny arms around my neck and waves goodbye to Reiner who's yet again chuckling and mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like _'You're even good with kids. Damn you, Saint Freckles.'_ “Still have to tell your mom, where she can pick you up or else you gonna miss the show, hm?”

Boris squirms a little. “I'm not with Mum. Mum doethn't have time for thith.” He states matter-of-factly. His tone indicates that he's slightly offended I even assumed it. Well, he cried for his mum, when I found him, but that's probably what all children do when they get lost. My heart drops a little. Poor child. “I'm here with big bro Jean.”

Now I nearly drop him. “Jean?” I ask stupidly as my heart starts fluttering in my chest. _Don't be ridiculous, Marco, there are other Jeans in the world than that one student._

“Yep...” Boris affirms as I enter the stables and place him on top of one of the bales. I call Krista's name and search around. She's nowhere to be seen.

"I'm over here~" She finally chirps, stepping out of one of the boxes, a curry comb in her hand and straws in her blonde hair. "I just finished up with brushing ol' Hannes' fur." Said pony wickers loudly as if to confirm her statement and I chuckle slightly. Yes, our ponies have some sense of humor at times. "Well, what is it Marco?"

"Eh... there's that little boy who got separated from his brother, I guess. Would you mind watching him for a bit and show him around, while I tell Levi to page him?"

"Awww. That poor kid, of course I don't mind, silly." She exclaims and directly switches into mother hen mode, pampering the boy like he's one of her pet animals. I'm sure, she'd spoil her children rotten, once she gets her own set. Shaking my head slightly with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth I step back out into the fresh air and head for the circus tent, to inform Jean Feulner via loud speaker where he could pick up his brother, before returning to the stables.

I struggle on my way back, sighing at the sheer amount of people out there. It is a good thing, really, but- no one likes impacts with shoulders and elbows in their ribs, okay?

When I'm about to enter I stop dead in my track as I hear a familiar voice snarling like a viper. That voice. His voice.

"...can't believe me?! You know what? Fuck you, Hitch! Yes, fuck you! Just do your fucking job of watching him yourself next time."

Like a Secret Service agent (or rather a creep) I sneak into the stables and hide behind a wall of bales, peeking in onto the scene. Unfolding before my eyes, I detect little Boris clinging to a young man's leg. Wiry body, two-toned undercut, a deep scowl which evokes flight instincts corrupting his adorable, sharp features... it is indeed _my_ Jean. ( _Since, when is he yours, Bodt?_ )

He scoffs at his phone, but his features soften as he pats Boris hair who Is still clinging to his leg and pressing his face into his thigh. "Yeah, of course he's unharmed and save, goddammit. The circus people took care of him." There's a short pause as the person on the other end speaks before the raging storm of slurs unleashes. “The fuck?! No! Circus artists don't fucking abduct children and sell them to kinky traffickers! What are you even-” Another pause.

Oh, wow. Whoever this Hitch-person is surely has quite the impression of circus people.

And then the cussing continues, accusations snapping through the air like a whip. Krista tries to calm the aggravated student with some shyly mumbled words of _'not cussing in front of children'_ , while Boris looks like he is about to do the siren all over again, face red from his silent hiccuping against Jean's thigh. That poor child. With sympathy in mind, I step out of my hiding position and clear my throat loudly.

"If I may interrupt for a moment... please?" I start softly but with a firm touch to my voice. Jean flips around ready to snarl at me by the looks of it. I brace myself and quickly speak up, before he's got a chance to do as much. "I know you're in a heated discussion and I don't want to be rude, but there's a child present and you should really consider your language around him or else he might pick it up."

Jean blushes slightly and casts his eyes downwards to the sniffling boy. Nodding silently he just pushes the red button on his phone – a rather rude way to cut the other party off – and kneels down. Face-to-face to his little brother.

"Hey, champ. I'm sorry, you okay?” He speaks tenderly, the familiar edgy tone almost gone completely. “Big boys don't cry, ya know. C'mon here." He picks the sniffling boy up on his arms and rises to his feet again. If anything, it makes him even more enthralling than he already is, I think as I smile softly.

Krista quickly retreats with a few mumbled words and hides in one of the horse's boxes. Probably planning on cleaning them all before the show starts. I can tell that Jean's outburst made her slightly nervous and leave her be.

“Ith Mom mad at me?” Boris sobs.

“Nah.” Jean says with a mischievous glint to his eyes and I vaguely wonder what he says as he whispers something into the boy's ear I can't quite catch. Boris' mood lifts instantly. He snickers and bumps his tiny forehead against Jean's like a little bull hitting the target with his horns in a kind of affectionate way.

I feel my expression soften at this endearing scene and smile even more. Jean's good with kids, too, it seems.

Well, that's at least what I was thinking, before the boy pipes up a 'Hitch ith a bitch!' in a singsong voice.

Oh. My. God. Jean's a complete and utter imbecile. And he's rubbing off on his brother.

"Well, thanks, for taking care of him, Marco." Jean turns towards me and gives me some crooked smirk. I come to think that this kind of smile suits him better than any beaming smile ever could. Makes him so much more cocky.

I feel myself blushing again and rub my index finger under my nose, another nervous habit of mine. How comes this guy makes me squirm so much under his attention. "It's nothing, really. Everyone would have done that." I say lamely. "Boris is your brother, huh? So, this Hitch-person is your mom...?" I indicate at his phone.

"Hell no. That bit-" He looks at me, looks at Boris, looks back at me again and coughs, looking slightly embarrassed and very aware of my earlier scolding. The giggling bubbles up in my throat before I can stop it. "I mean, Hitch's my dad's fiance. That kinda makes her my stepmother-to-be or something. I don't even care.” He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Well, and Boris is her son. So, we're not exactly blood-related. But we're as close as brothers, I guess. Right, champ?"

Boris nods eagerly, his arms wrapped around Jean's neck the same way he did that with my neck. “Yep. Jean ith my idol.” he blabbers, making his 'brother' blush even more.

My giggles quickly become out of control as Jean sputters some incoherent words. He's so flustered that it's adorable and I think, when he scowls and glares at me, that it's lovely and not scary at all. Maybe I'm crazy, but he's really cute when being embarrassed and irritated at the same time. The way he tries to defy me with that huge blush tinting his cheeks and the way his lips cannot decide what they'll do next, as his mouth switches between a pouting expression, to thinning in aggravation to opening to throw curse words at me. It really is lovely.

That's the first glimpse of the true Jean I'm getting here, I realize and relish in that moment, taking it all in and storing it into my memory drawer, ready to fish it out whenever I please.

Behind the scowl Jean is actually just a big dork... pretty much just like everyone else. He's no longer an overly cool, superior being that makes me melt on spot whenever he looks at me with his striking honey colored eyes and becomes Jean, the student who gets flustered by a single sentence of his baby brother. That sets me on ease. It's info like that which makes me feel much more confident about seriously hitting on him sooner or later.

Not now, though. It would appear quite awkward to hit on him in front of Boris.

“By the way.” He grumbles after I apologized for laughing at him. “The name's Jean Kirschstein, not Feulner.”

Kirschstein, Kirschstein... I muse. This sounds faintly familiar, but I can't quite grasp where I had heard it before.

" _Merdé,_ Marco!” A strict voice snaps me out of my train of thoughts. I flinch as I realize Levi's standing directly behind me. Didn't hear him coming, but he definitely sounds pissed. What have I done wrong? “Are you fucking kidding me?! Get the fuck dressed! The show starts in less than fucking twenty minutes and you're our fucking star artist! And who the fuck is that? No backstage passes! Fu-"

Oh shit. Shouldn't have done that. He's going to kill me. But really. His foul-mouth is even worse than Jean's and Boris doesn't need to learn any more curse words. Oh my god, Levi's so going to kill me for that.

In short, I covered his mouth in a kind of instinct ridden bravado, before he could do any more damage to the child's ears. Fuck my instincts. I'm already a dead man.

I urge Jean to get his brother and leave with a toss of my head and a gaze towards the doors. He casts a glance at the death glare thrown at him from the small, struggling man and nods, looking slightly paler than before. With a small, quite unmanly squeak he flees the stables, Boris firmly grasped in his arms. The balloon in the boy's hand wobbling after them like a obedient floating pet.

Run for your life Jean. It was nice knowing you.

They're almost out through the door, before I remember something.

"Hey, you gonna watch our show?" I ask, still struggling to keep my trainer's mouth covered. I swear he bit me twice already... not to mention that he tries to trample my feet in staccato. I wince at the pain when he actually manages to kick my chin. God, he's a handful, really. And so strong, too.

"Sure thing! That's what we came for!" Jean flashes me a toothy smile over his shoulder, before he slips out and vanishes in between the crowd. My heart skips a beat before speeding up like it ran a marathon.

I swear to God, Jean's smile was the sexiest smile, I've ever seen. I hum contently.

Ow, goddammit. Another bite in my hand snaps me out of my daze pretty quickly. "Ow, damn! Levi, stop it already! I can't perform on the silk without my hands, feet and legs!" I hiss and let go of the aggravated man.

I earn myself a harsh smack on the back of my head and a kick in the arse. Yes, a literally one. “Do that ever again...” he warns with the most frightening expression on his face ever “...and you little shit wish you'd still have your hands for me to bite and your long-ass legs for me to kick. Get moving, you lovesick pussy! Now!”

I don't doubt his words in the slightest. He looks ready to kill. So, I quickly dash to my own caravan, step in and close the door with my whole body weight leaning against it. Save. I exhale a breath I wasn't aware I kept holding and start to laugh once again. First breathy giggles, then full-fledged laughter until my sides start hurting. What a crazy premiere night. And it hadn't even started yet.

I shake my head with a smile and gather myself. Time to change into my outfit.  


* * *

  
I peek through the curtains and feel excitement sparking like never before. There are so many people. Families, couples, students. A colorful mix of generations. Almost all of the seats are taken, just a few gaps left in between. The tent hadn't been that filled up for a long long time. My heart flutters like a jittery bird in my chest and the uprising stage fright makes me dizzy but relieved at the same time. A little nauseous, too, but it's not so bad that I feel like puking.

Bertholdt is standing behind me, his arms crossed and elbows propped on my shoulders, while his chin rests on top of my head. He is silently humming the melody of 'Love is in the Air' and I feel the song resonating from his chest as a vibration against my back. I can't say for sure, but, knowing him, I am fairly convinced that there is a teasing smirk sprouting on his lips.

"Quit that... You're being such an ass." I chuckle, mildly annoyed and nudge him in the ribs. I am in a way too cheery mood to get myself being really mad at Bertholdt though. "He's over there, see. Third row, slightly to the right of the main entrance."

I point at Jean sitting in the audience, chatting with his younger brother and smiling that crooked grin of his. He had been easy to spot with his two-toned, eye-catching hair. Only god knows how badly he may influence his baby brother right now, I think as I watch them interact. I chuckle even more as the 'Hitch is a bitch' rhyme comes back into my mind.

"I've never seen you so giddy, Bodt." Annie's voice startles me and I feel Bertholdt flinching behind me as well. The girl somehow sneaked her way over to us. She had already changed into a more comfortable asset and her hair seems damp. She faintly smells of hibiscus and pineapple. So, she already showered, I guess. Her act is one of the first after all. "That guy must be something then." She adds.

Feeling like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar combined with the fact that I'm still rather close to an heart-attack by Annie's sudden appearance, I blush furiously and splutter. "I... I dunno what you mean. I j-just am excited to s-see such a... uh... b-big audience.” Fuck my traitorous stammering and hitching voice. _Smooth, Bodt, really smooth._

It obviously didn't sound convincing at all as Annie rolls her eyes at me. Yeah, I know, it didn't even sound convincing to me. So, duh.

„Whatever. Just don't let it affect your performance.“ The blond girl shrugs and leaves again, just as silently as she appeared.

I sigh and close the curtain's gap, before I stare any longer and raise further attention. It's already bad enough to get teased by Reiner and Bertholdt all the time, no need to double the trouble.

My performance is about to start after Bertholdt's act anyway. And he is next. So, I decide it's best to get my make-up done, before doing some exercising to get my muscles warmed up.

„Don't worry.“ Bertholdt says with a miraculous smile, kneading my shoulders as I sit down in front of the makeup mirror and start to generously plaster a thick coat of foundation on my face. „You'll do fine.“

I don't know if he refers to my performance or to Jean, but before I can ask him he heads off to get ready for his own act. “Break a leg!” I shout after him, before I snort and shake my head. Why is everyone seemingly so interested in my affections anyway? Jean is not the first guy I want to hook up with.

It takes me a laughable amount of time to get my lame make-up done. In my defense, we used to have make-up artists for these things, but like pretty much everything else, we also had to reduce the staff in this department.

Rico Brzenska had done a marvelous job of painting my face in various shades and colors and attaching highlights like rhinestones and feathers. She had been the last one to leave our staff crew just about four weeks ago. I still miss her. Especially when I look at my poor steampower-based make-up right now. I wrinkle my nose, while looking at the me in my reflection, trying to figure out as to where I should correct the lines or fade the shadows further. Rico's face paint had been so much more... vivid an vibrant. I just have to rely on dark smoky eyes, some feature shading, highlighting and shimmering bronzner. And, of course, glitter.

„ _For a circus artist there's never enough glitter, Marco!“_ I can almost hear her scolding words. I always pouted at the glitter excess she put on my face. It's not that I hold a personal grudge against glitter, but did you ever try to remove that stuff from your skin?

I shake my head, smiling nostalgically. It had been fun arguing with Rico. But now is not the moment to dwell in reminiscences.

After I'm more or less pleased with the outcome I fix the whole shitty make-up with fixing powder and start to warm up, detaching myself from the problems I can't solve on my own back to the problem at hand: My peculiar obsession about Jean Kirschstein.

As much as I claim that I'm just attracted to his body, I know there's more behind it. He's not just some handsome bloke, he's also got wits and charms... questionable charms, but charms nonetheless.

Am I actually crushing on him... like for real?

As if to answer this question, my heartbeat speeds up rapidly and I can tell it has nothing to do with my aerobic exercising. Damn... that's pretty obvious, right?

Why, though? What does Jean have that makes me romantically interested in him? I mean, I don't even know him for that much time. What things did he do in our previous encounters that made me see him in a different light than all the guys I was interested in before?

Maybe it's all about his bluntness. The way he laughs earnestly that crooked grin of his. The way he gets flustered over silly things. The way he looks at me, fierce and yet somewhat lost, like there's a whole world of Jean Kirschstein mindfuck to discover behind those beautiful golden orbs. It's certainly his voice as well, I already said I have that kind of fetish. Not to forget that he has some sense of humor, willingly or not.

He's interesting. I want to know more about that man who appears to be superior to everything and actually happens to be a full-fledged dork.

I hear a sneeze coming from behind me, making me snap out of my thoughts.

„Bless you.“ I say on reflex. Whoever just happened to pass me, is a goddamn life saver as the clock tells me I'm about to miss my entrance.

„Yeah, whatever... thanks.“ Auruo's brusque voice resounds from the stockroom before he starts cursing under his breath about something regarding our stocks on sugar. I will make sure to thank him later on, but for now I have to get my ass moving.

Taking a quick sip from my water bottle, I start to remove the sweater and reveal the costume underneath – a white nylon shirt with black, metallic-red stripes and a black blazer with implied bronze metalwork printed on it. Snug black slacks with a elastic band wrapped around the soles of my feet which keep the pants legs from sliding down my chins when I'm upside down finish the dress.

“You can do it, Marco.” I pep talk to my mirror reflection and I'm not actually sure if I mean the performance in general or if it's about impressing Jean.

The familiar feeling of buck fever returns. Oh Christ, why do I always have to be so jittery before the performance? Once I enter the circus ring, I'll be all calm, I know.

As I draw closer to the curtain separating me from the audience and the circus ring I hear shattering applause, before Bertholdt returns with a serene smile on his lips. Patches of sweat drown his body suit. He looks exhausted but happy. That's a good sign.

„The audience is great tonight.“ He tells me, retreating with a slight bounce to his steps. „You gonna love them.“

Just then Erwin Smith's smooth voice catches my attention, announcing my performance. He sounds almost cheerful and there is so much applause. I don't really have to double-check on my broadcast smile, when Erwin announces my name and the light goes out.

I feel enthusiastic and content as I step out behind the curtain into the dark of the circus ring. Feeling more than seeing Erwin pass me by, he wishes me 'good luck!' and I confidently sashay towards the illuminated aerial silk, as the spotlight finally catches me.

I bow before the audience, before I proceed to my entrance pose. The music starts to play and I start the short ballet sequence, before I lift myself off the ground in a running jump. The silk describes circle after circle as I settle in my first pose, hearing the audience gasps and enjoying the thrill of almost flying.

The audience is great indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of the inspiration to Marco's costume and make-up:  
> http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/09/6c/80/096c80658e0dc0992f08a7908f1a8a16.jpg
> 
> And here's the sountrack suite of Marco's performance song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqOw2L-nhLY


	4. Chapter 3: More Than a Fling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is a lot of hot stuff going on and cheesy lines are spilled almost all the time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly sorry that you had to wait so long for this chapter, but RL became a bitch and I ended up in hospital and there's no fu***g i-net in that hospital unless you pay like 5€ a day... which is way too much. I'm back now, all good and healthy and stressed out like hell because there's a con coming up next weekend and I still have to sew that stupid jacket for my Dark!Marco cosplay... X') *my luck*
> 
> i actually planned to post chapters for Jean and Marco in tandem... yet... I kind of ditched this plan, because I find it much easier to write Marco and you already waited for so long and... *takes a breath* I just don't want you to wait even longer, because of my stupid Jean-related writer's block. *bows deep* Thank for all the clicks and Kudos... my, I was so surprised that people are actually interested. Thanks so much. Luv ya all. (it may be that I#m still kinda high on drugs, don't wonder.)

I didn't shower, which in retrospect, is a rather gross thing to do. So, I probably smell disgusting, despite all the cologne I generously sprinkled on me.

After our final curtain call I had hardly the time to do much more about my sweaty exterior than that. Quickly I jump into my black sweat pants, not even bothering to get rid of my stage outfit beforehand and snatch my matching hoodie, before I rush back to the circus ring.

_Oh please please please be there... just be there!_

Well, in case you're wondering, that's the internal mantra I send to the heavens above, hoping that some God will take pity on me and my desperation. I definitely don't want to miss Jean leaving the tent, before I had a chance to talk to him again... maybe even get his number or something. Oh, I'd love to get his number.

Bertholdt and Reiner look up from their make out session they've been occupied with for the last ten minutes as I pass them by and both wish me luck. I'm too much in a hurry to do more than ask them to cross their fingers, because...God... I haven't been so nervous about meeting someone for ages and I don't even know why I am exactly.

I step through the curtain, heart hammering in my chest like I ran a marathon, and hastily scan the crowd heading for the exit to spot any sign of sandy-hair among the people. None in sight, though and my stomach churns in disappointment. Is he already gone? Did he leave early to avoid the crowds? Did he even see my performance then?

„Hey Freckles, over here, if you're searching for me.“ Oh that wonderful, raspy voice of his.

Startled I turn to the side and blink several times. There he is. Jean in all his smug glory and he never left his seat. His chin is propped on the palm of his left hand, while his right hand waves idly at me. He's sporting a cocksure grin which nearly melts me on spot. Did he actually wait for me? My heart flips and swarms of butterflies conquer my stomach within seconds.

I smile sheepishly at him, as a wave of relief washes over me. So he didn't leave early. I feel my hands becoming clammy as I jog over to him, crossing the enclosure of the circus ring with a swift jump onto the empty seats and hopping over the backrests to the third row, before plopping down in the seat beside him. Well, Levi would kill me for that later on if he saw me manhandling the seats like that... I just hope he didn't.

That's how we start our little clumsy first attempt at talking. He's flirtatious and charming as he compliments my grace and my performance. And I try to be a little sassy, which he seems to approve of if his softening eyes which never leave mine and his lopsided smile are any indication. I feel myself blush, though, every so often and he never fails to tease me about it, although he's nearly blushing quite a lot himself.

I don't know when exactly we decide that a celebration in private is in need or when Krista returned with Boris so that Jean could bring him home again. But we exchange numbers and he tells me that he'll text me, before he departs.

I feel kind of dizzy as his lips grace my cheeks, before he mumbles into my ear with a low, hungry undertone in his voice. “I'm crappy at smooth talking you into this, so I don't even pretend: I'd love you to stay overnight, if you're up to that.”

He certainly has a way to be blunt about certain things. All I can do is nod and smile, taken by his go-get-it-attitude. What can I do? Men who know what they want are my kryptonite. And playing hard-to-get would merely be a waste of time.

I want him.

And he wants me.

What better chances do I get than a direct offer?  
  


* * *

  
I flip through my phone and look at the address Jean texted me earlier. Sina Avenue, 845. I check the house number once again and shake my head in astonishment. I'm right. I'm standing right in front of 845, Sina Avenue. But how can a student afford an apartment in such a wealthy area of Trost?

I look at the row of door bells. There are four buttons with four different names attached to them and the one on the top actually reads 'Kirschstein'.

“Hi. Marco?” The crackling voice of my date sounds through the speaker as soon as I ring the bell.

“Hi Jean, yeah i-it's me.” I purr, trying to sound as seductive as my nervous state lets me.

He chuckles. “I'll send you the elevator down, you horny fuck.” He says without any restraint and I feel his words going directly down to my groin. Gosh, what a man.

Elevator? I can't believe how loaded his family must be to afford such luxurious shit. Maybe I shouldn't dance to his piping like he's the pied piper of Hamelin. Just to make a point of me not being impressed by all his riches. Or maybe to blast his oversized ego on purpose.

_Yeah, as if. Keep on dreaming Bodt._

I let myself into the house as the door buzzes. There's a huge but rather spare and impersonal looking foyer with marble stone floor and walls. To the right there are pigeon holes and to my left there's a fancy motorbike in bilious green and white. Wow. I march to the latter without thinking, touching the soft black leather seat with utmost care and awe, briefly wondering if this beauty belongs to Jean or some other occupant of this house.

There's a soft bing as the elevator arrives and its doors open. Biting my bottom-lip and casting a last, longing look to the machine in the foyer, I step into it and let myself be brought to the top floor. The mirrors inside come in handy as I try to ease my stupid cowlick back into place and checking my outfit for a last time. Skinny stone-washed denim jeans, a simple white shirt with a black heartagramm print and a cherry red hoodie. Not too fancy but certainly the clothes I feel most comfortable in.

_Relax, Marco. Everything's cool. He wants you. Breathe~_

The doors open again, directly leading entrance into Jean's apartment – no wait, correction, into his loft. Jesus fucking Christ. He's got a loft. How awesome is that?

„Oh my God, you have such a great view.“ I say apparently to no one for I haven't seen any sign of Jean so far. A silly smile tugs on my lips as I dash forward to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, after kicking off my sneakers. The sun dips down behind the skyline of Trost and creates a splash of colors against the sky, all shades of pinks, oranges, reds and dark blue. It's so mesmerizing that I flinch a bit as Jean steps up beside me and wraps one arm around my waist.

“You like it?” He nuzzles my ear affectionately and for a moment I cannot keep myself from whimpering to his touch. I recognize the smell of pine and lemongrass on him. It suits him so well that I nearly shiver from just his scent.

“It's beautiful.” I gasp as he nibbles at my neck, hot breath cascading down my bare skin, while hands start roaming my body underneath the layers of clothing. I wish I'd be in less garment right now.

“I see something more beautiful than the sunset right now.” He rasps.

I chuckle. “You cheesy dork.”

“Oh yeah? Well, bite me.” And that's what I do. I bite him softly in the crease of his neck eliciting a soft moan from him. So he's sensitive there, huh? Good. Before he gets the chance to unzip my hoodie, I slip out of his arms and stick my tongue out at him like a goddamn little child. But there's never much fun in diving into this kind of pastime too eagerly and quickly. He still has to win me over... a little bit.

“You said we're gonna celebrate? I expect champagne and caviar at the very least.” I quip, while taking a look around at his loft. Apart from the cheer size of it, it's filled to the brim with things one wouldn't expect a rich kid to have in some apartment so extraordinary like that. Mismatched furniture, various posters of classic movies like 'Jaws' and 'Frankenstein', silly trinkets everywhere (oh my God, is that a hula-dancer figurine on that shelf?) and endless shelves overstuffed with heavy volumes. It's cozy and it's personal and I love it. I guess I just thought he was more the designer type of rich.

“I can offer beer and pizza service? On my account, of course.”

Oh dear lord, pizza service. How long has it been since I had a hot, fat-dripping pizza? I can't even say. It would be heavenly.

“Will do. For me paprika, mushrooms and tuna, extra spicy. If that's okay?”

“Sure. I'll get a lasagna on top and we can trade half-and-half? And maybe a bottle of Lambrusco and bread sticks?”

“Yes, please. You're too good to me.” I nearly moan, mouth already watering, as I continue roaming his apartment. In my peripheral I can see him smiling and skimming through his phone, before he actually orders all the good stuff.

My stomach is already growling as I spot some breaches in style of his none-existent interior design. Like a modern full automatic coffee machine residing in his kitchen, a huge saltwater aquarium with plenty colorful fishes and corals and seahorses and what else there is to find in reefs, a huge ass flatscreen and the set of videogame consoles gathered around it, as well as a free standing whirlpool in the full-glass cubicle that seems to be the only bathroom he has.

“What's when I have to go to toilet?” I ask, pointing at the transparent walls of said bathroom as soon as Jean hangs up and informs me that the pizza boy will take about twenty minutes. I'm very curious about the whole bathroom thing, wondering if this is some kind of perverted kink of his, watching other people when they take a piss? I just hope not.

Without a word but doubled up with loud guffawing laughter Jean passes me by and points at a switch at the entrance of the glass cubicle. As he switches it on the transparent glass quickly becomes translucent all over.

I blink and for a stupid moment I am sure he used some weird kind of magic right in front of me. “Woah. What's that?” Stepping closer to the cubicle, I place my hands on the cool surface. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. It feels like touching normal glass. I look at Jean in search of any explanation to this.

“It's called smart glass.” He states with that cocksure smile on his face. “Basically glass that changes light transmission properties under the application of voltage, heat or light. This one runs by voltage. It's just some fancy gadget, really. My father is producing this shit in his company, so, well, naturally I got myself a fancy ass bathroom wall for free.”

“This is awesome.”

“Nah, look into a mirror and you'll find awesome.” There he goes again. All bluntly throwing flirty and cheesy pickup lines at me like it's the most common thing in the world for him. Maybe it is. But... oh dear, did he really just...?

I know that you already know that I'm not good at getting compliments.

But here I present to you: Marco Bodt, _completely failing_ at getting compliments.

All I do is blush and wince and hide my face behind my fingers in shame. It's so pathetic. But Jean actually has the nerve to tell me it's the cutest thing he's ever seen. Which makes me blush even more, of course. I guess he's doing it on purpose. For the sake of entertainment or so. Wouldn't put that past him.

Even though I was a stranger to him. Even though socializing clearly needed more restraint. Even though he shouldn't look so fond of me like I was dear to him. He is as blunt and as honest as a child. Innocent and cruel alike. But, oh, is he being adorable and charming, beyond the cheesiness of it all. And I'm sure he's pretty much aware of what he does to my heart at the moment.

And you know what he does right after he turned me into a puddle of overwhelmed feelings? Yeah, exactly. That blunt bloke just breaks into cackling fits of laughter.

„Oh my God, I bro-hohohh... I broke you, didn't I-hihihihi?“ He bends over, slipping down the wall he was leaning against, all cool and bad ass, until he's sitting on the floor, face all red and buried between his knees, shoulders erupting with his laughter. „Oh-hohohoho my fucking Go-hohoho-d, your fa-hahaha... your face. s-so-hoho-rry man!“

I grimace and plop down beside him. But no matter how much I tried I couldn't even try to contain my giggles. He is sort of contagious. “Stop the compliments or I have to call the police for rape of words. Seriously, do you have a dictionary for corny pickup lines in there?” I ask, flipping my finger against his temple.

He calms down after a while, all red faced from the sheer amount of laughter, tears inkling at the corners of his eyes and big smile plastered on his lips. Still coughing up some bubbling aftermath of chuckles. “Thanks, Marco. You... you really are something, dude. I haven't laughed like this in ages.”

“Laughing at someone is not a nice thing, though, Jean.” I chide, bump my shoulder against his and smile. “I don't mind though. Because you're providing the food and because you're incredibly handsome, when you laugh.”

His eyes go wide for a moment before he shifts his position until he kneels on the floor and faces me. My breath hitches slightly as he leans forward, brushing the back of his knuckles against my cheek and tilting his head slightly to the right.“Who's the cheesy one now?” He asks against my lips, his hot breath blazing over my skin and making it goosebump. I close my eyes the moment he brushes his soft lips over mine, tenderly and oh-so-soft.

I place my hand at his neck drawing him closer, deepening the kiss and parting my lips as his tongue slides over them in a hesitant request. The bitter taste of black tea mingles with refreshing peppermint on my tongue as his tongue nearly plunges into my mouth, ravaging the inside with growing vigor. It's not hard to follow his dominant lead and brush my own tongue against his eager muscle, getting to know it's velvety texture and it's entrancing moving pattern.

“Dunno why, but I could get used to kissing you.” He mutters after pulling back and leaning his forehead against mine, looking at me with dopey, yet sensually half-lidded eyes.

I smile, probably mirroring his expression by the feel of it. “I feel the same.”

Another kiss is exchanged and another and another, each growing in heat and lust and oh-my-god-sheer desire. Hands are roaming desperately, bodies arching, voices moaning and gasping. Both of us crave for each other's lips and bodies and naked skin until-

_Ring, ring, riiiiiing!_

I flinch and so does he, bolting backwards, away from me like he got burned. What the fuck? Then he laughs. “Ah, sorry. I'm a bit on edge, I guess. well, that's probably the pizza guy, just make yourself comfy on the couch, will ya?” He rises to his feet, staggers to the door and steps into the elevator to fetch the pizza instead of letting the pizza boy bring the pizza up here. Curious habit, I wonder briefly, but then I find it by far more interesting to brush over my slightly swollen lips and smile like a lovesick fool, dwelling in the memory of our kisses for a ittle longer.

I elicit a soft sigh and scramble to the couch, placing my butt neatly in a small dent in the cushioned seat. I presume it's Jean's favorite spot to be judging by the comfortable size of the dent. I sink back against the snug backrest and moan a bit in delight. Hmm... it feels good, that comfortable luxury all around me.

“Ain't you a dandy little fuck? Enjoying yourself?” Jean chuckles and places the food on the coffee table in front of the couch, before he plops down on the couch himself.

I smirk and plant my feet on his lap, one foot already dangerously close to his crotch. “Very much so.” I whisper in a sweet, innocent tone and earn myself another of his lopsided grins. It's kind of like a reward to see him smiling so much around me, you know?

He offers me a napkin and a slice of pizza. I'm almost tempted to challenge him to feed me. But the smell of pizza, the sight of it's gold-brown, cheese filled crust and the amount of drool in my mouth actually makes me reconsider that option and just dig into it myself. Judging by Jeans gobsmacked expression I must appear like a starving wolf stumbling across prey.

“'m sowwy.” I mumble between two hearty bites, averting my eyes. My ever betraying stomach growls so loudly that I probably sport a few shades of red on my cheeks now. Damn it. He must think you're some savage. I moan again, though,  as the taste of cheese unfolds on my taste buds.

“Fuck... you are even hot... when you eat.” Jean states, still looking at me and licking his lips absentmindedly. “Is it good?”

I nod, still not making any eye contact and swallowing the pulp of saliva drenched pizza, feeling the warmth of the food wandering down my throat and into my stomach. “I... uhm... we don't get something like that often in the circus.” I explain and dare to look up at him again. “We're kinda constantly broke.”

Instead of bombarding me with questions regarding this subject, he just smiles softly and hands me another slice. “Good thing I also ordered two servings of strawberry Tiramisu, then.”  
  


* * *

  
_Fingertips dancing across skin, lighting it on fire wherever they touch. Moans, groans and muffled cries of pure ecstasy shooting through the air. Bend body, salty sweat dripping and sweet sweet sweet kisses and petty nonsense exchanged at the edge of euphoria._

I hum contently as I wake up from that lingering dream and my pleasurable slumber as the sun tickles my nose. Drowsily I scan the room. Double kingsize bed with the softest of mattresses I ever lay upon, huge floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view on Trost and the pitter-patter of water droplets accompanied by a soft humming (or even singing?) voice somewhere not so far.

This is definitely not my caravan.

Suppressing a sleepy yawn I sit up and rub my eyes with the bale of my hand, stretching until my spine pops. The blanket, a black silken one, pools around my waist which is suspiciously uncovered with clothes as much as the rest of my body. A subtle pain in my anorectal area tells me very clearly about what I must have been up to last night. My eyes linger for a while on the bottle of sweet Lambrusco on the nightstand.

I smile as the confusion ceases and memory floods back into my mind. Right. I'm with Jean... this is his loft and we celebrated the success of our premiere night rather privately after he brought his little stepbrother home.

That explains rather obviously my vivid wet dreams and the huge morning glory I'm sporting. I slip out of bed, picking up the stray clothes we carelessly dropped on the floor as we kissed and ground our way to his bed. I slip into my boxers, before shuffling over to the kitchen, eyes on this highly luxurious fully automated coffee machine. God save the luxury.

There's already a clean mug placed underneath the nozzles and a little, yellow post-it is placed neatly beside a row of buttons: 'Just pick what you like. <3' is written on it in scrawly handwriting and I smile wider as I read those simple words and dwell on the little heart-emoticon.

I press the button beside 'Cappuccino', listening to the sound of the machine shredding coffee beans and boiling water with the softest of smiles on my lips. I'm aware that I must look like a lovesick fool, but well...

Jean isn't a mere fling any longer... so much is clear. I want him to be more than that. If he is interested, that is.

“Hey morning, sleeping beauty.” Jean announces, snaking his arms around my waist and making me shiver as the cool droplets of water on his chest are pressed against my bare back.

“Eww... Oh my God, oh my fucking God. Get off me now. You're all wet and cold and... brrrr.” I gasp and shudder and try to wiggle my way out of his adamant embrace, but to no avail.

He chuckles evilly. “Awww... are you a cat or something. Afraid of water?” He teases and starts working his cool, damp hair into my neck enjoying it by far too much and making me squeak in protest. Such a sassy bastard. Dunno, why, but somehow I like him even more for being like that.

Finally I manage to turn around in his arms. My hands are free to run over his sides as he leans his forehead against mine, looking at me cross-eyed but endearing with those honey-colored, loving eyes of his.

“Seems like someone's very eager today.” He states cockily as he feels my morning wood pressing flush against his abdomen.

I roll my eyes at him for stating the obvious and curl my fingers slightly in, working them into the delicate flesh of his sides. The reaction is as much as appealing as I could have wished for. He backs away, squirming at my touch and shaking with snorting laughter. So someone's ticklish, huh? Good to know.

“Hahahahahaha... Oh god... oh fucking no. That's f-fucking unfair! Hahahaha. Marco Sto-hohoho-p!” He says, wheezing and stumbling backwards until he hits the armrest of his couch with the back of his knees and topples over, sprawled on the furniture and helpless like a bufg lying on its back. Completely at my mercy. Hehe.

Don't think I can only do nice and lovely. “Nope. Say please.”

“Never ever, Bodt.” He challenges and I tickle him even more forcefully, searching for areas he's especially sensitive, while crawling on top of him and straddling his hips. There are already tears forming at the corners of his eyes, when I join in, sharing his contagious laughter. He tries to wriggle free or to catch my wrists, but there's no way with that spasmic shaking going on that he's gonna succeed.

And finally he gives in. “Okay, okay. You win. Hahahaha. You win. Please stop. Please please... pfff... please.”

I kiss the corners of his eyes, collecting the salty droplets of tears with the tip of my tongue and savor the taste of his heartfelt joy, before leaning into a feverish kiss to his lips. “Round two, then?”

“Last time I counted this would be round four.” He murmurs, closing his eyes and running his fingers over my cheek and ear into my already tousled hair. I melt into his touch and sigh in delight. I feel his twitching erection underneath me pressing against my butt, just my boxers and his tightly wrapped towel denying the skin-to-skin contact right now. I break the kiss for a moment to look at his water stained skin, his perfectly shaped abs, his wirey frame. How gorgeous can a man look? He's even more beautiful like that and right now he's mine. 

And then, all of a sudden, the front door closes shut with a bang. Both of us flinch and stare at the man who has the nerve to gape at us with utter disgust on his face.

“So, I take it, that this is your way of 'focusing on your studies', correct?” He's dressed in a dark-gray tux. There's a pink clove in his chest-pocket and a pastel pink button-up underneath the blazer. His accusing ice-blue eyes throw daggers at me, while they are completely ignoring Jean who went awkwardly still underneath me.

“W-what are you doing here, D-dad?” he whispers breathlessly.

Well fuck. Hello, Mr. Kirschstein.


	5. Chapter 4: Disastrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is Jean being a jerk, a fateful letter and Marco losing his temper...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the long wait... I just wasn't pleased with the outcome of this chapter for quite a while and had to re-write several scenes over and over again. I'm somewhat satisfied now and hope, you'll be, too. ^^ Enjoy the drama...?

I shiver in Bertholdt's arms. Even though he wraps me in a thick blanket and rubs my arms and other limbs, the coldness within my body refuses to let go of me. Meanwhile, Reiner pushes a mug of steaming hot tea in my hands and I eagerly wrap my stiff fingers around the cup. Both men have a look of concern in their eyes as they exchange glances, but neither one dares to ask the obvious question as of how it happened that I walked barefooted and in nothing more than boxers on my body from Jean's apartment back to the circus grounds in the midst of October.

I sigh, not feeling ready yet to speak about that incident, and turn to look at something else instead of them. My eyes linger on the TV screen which is airing some useless home-shopping crap. Extreme sweat pants for faster weight loss and body shaping? Ridiculous. I doubt this PVC-based shit actually helps with toning your body. And I doubt that Bertholdt needs a pair of jogging pants that make him sweat even more. Why are they watching home-shopping anyway?

Still, my eyes linger a little bit longer on the screen as the overly chipper advertising saleswoman proclaims why it is so important to sweat faster and more during work-out. I can tell it's utter nonsense. How many people are dumb enough to believe pants can solve their weight problems? Anyway, the distraction is kind of nice, even though I guess I sacrificed a bundle of gray matter by just watching this advertisement for about five minutes. The jingle is unnerving to. And the offer is laughable. 

I take a sip on the herbal tea and feel its warmth spread throughout my throat and belly. Closing my eyes, I relish this wonderful feeling for a while, before I face the big guys and decide to break the tense silence lingering in the air. I don't exactly want to talk about what happened. Talking doesn't make things any better or lift a weight of your heart or something of that kind, unlike common people's believes. But I know just as well I have to explain at least a bit to my worried friends, because, hey, I actually appreciate that they care.

“Disastrous.” That's the first word that rolls from my tongue. My voice croaks embarrassingly as I try to swallow the tears that are already burning in my eyes, threatening to gather and make their way down my cheeks. I'm a little bit self-conscious about how emotional I can react, but well... yeah. At least I have some sort of reason to cry. Be it sadness or frustration or disappointment. 

“You want to talk about it?” Berthold asks, smiling his tender and caring smile. The one which instantly raises my sour mood. Not entirely, no, but a bit.

“Or you want comfort?” Reiner adds, sitting down on the other side of me, implying what exactly he means, by placing a hand on my thighs, making me chuckle. The big blonde does mean well, but he kind of has peculiar ways to light the mood. 

I don't know, if I mentioned it before, but even though Bertholdt and Reiner are a thing they are also the ones who lead me on into the deep waters of homoerotic sexual intercourse. Surprised? Well, I can't blame you. It's just, they know how to make a man feel good and they trust each other so much that jealousy never is an issues. They're extraordinary mentors on this specific subject... and sometimes I feel lonely and wanton.

Well, a threesome is nice at times, but at the moment that's the least thing I need. I had a night full of sex satisfying my innermost carnal desires. But I don't exactly feel like speaking about Jean and his father's argument, either. 

What must be done, must be done, though, I guess. Better to get it over with sooner than later. “Talking will do.” I say and collect my thoughts to explain in detail what had happened earlier that day.   
  


 

* * *

  
“ _Dad! Goddamnit! Y-you can't show up like that! This is my apartment!” Jean exclaimed, his eyes darting anxiously between the man with those ice-blue eyes and I. I didn't know what exactly was the issue, but I kind of caught homophobic vibes radiating from the older man. So I assumed, Jean didn't come out yet...? Well, shit. This might mean trouble._

“ _The apartment, I paid for.” The man spoke oddly composed, still gazing at me like I was the very thorn in his side. Suddenly I felt the pressing need to cover my body, despite him being just another man. No new territory for him to discover, well, despite the freckles maybe. But his glare really got under my skin._

“ _Your gift for my 18 th birthday. I didn't know you have a spare key-card!” Jean brought himself between his father and myself. I don't know whether it was kind of a protective move or if he just tried to stand his ground. But I remember, I felt kind of touched by this. _

_ Finally those cold eyes darted up to his son's face... I had no single doubt that Jean was scowling at him. I watched with certain fascination how his shorter hair bristled and his hands clenched into fists, how his body trembled slightly but visibly. It took all my composure not to dash forward and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to protect him, wanted to calm him.  _

_ The tension grew so thick that I came to think we barely had any oxygen left to breath in the room. Neither of them spoke a word for quite a time. They just stared, daring each other to make the first move. _

_ Unfortunately, I couldn't stand the tension any longer and I dared to break the silence with whatever fucked up bravado I could muster. “Erm... technically, Jean is right.” Both their eyes snapped at me instantly and I winced at the undivided and anger-filled attention I received. Both of them looked nothing less than murderous. 'Jeez, Bodt, why couldn't you keep your mouth shut, huh? ' I cleared my throat, hoping against hope that it helped a bit against sounding like a scared mouse. “Even though you, Sir, bought his loft – and it is a beautiful, generous present, no doubt – by giving it to Jean you kind of made him the respective owner of it.” Mr. Kirschstein narrowed his eyes at me and... 'Oh shit shit shit. Abort mission. Abort!' “And that practically means, he is to decide who gets a spare key... uh... key-card and who doesn't... so this... uh.. is kind of... home invasion...?” The last few words were something in between a high-pitched squeal and a breathless whisper. Miserable, just miserable. But to my defense, Mr. Kirschstein looked indeed ready to kill. Damn it. No good first impression on Jean's family... _

_I looked at Jean for some support from his side, but the sandy-haired student merely looked gobsmacked. Yet, there was a slight twitching upwards on the right side of his mouth. I swear, he was about to grin... almost. And, I don't know, but was this pride I saw in those golden orbs of his?_

“ _You dare it?” I whimpered. Mr. Kirschstein made some steps towards me, but Jean was still in his way. And I tried to act cool. If I'm good at something then it's acting... I just hoped this counts for acting like I'm above unspoken threats, too. Well, unfortunately, Jean's dad wasn't impressed by my display in the least. So, shit.“Wer ist diese kleine... besserwisserische Schwuchtel, Jean Philippe?”_

_ Jean cringed and paled instantly at the foreign words. I didn't get a thing the man said to me, but it obviously was something insulting. ( _ “It means, roughly translated, 'Who is this little, know-all fag'.” Reiner interrupts my explanation with unmistakable disdain to his voice. _) At that moment, unbeknownst to the meaning, I was just perplexed._

_ I looked at Jean again, not exactly knowing what else to do in my puzzled state and hoped he would explain anything. Instead I noticed something had changed in Jean's whole attitude. There wasn't pride or warmth in his eyes any longer, there was just bare hatred.  _

“ _Get out! Now!” Jean snapped and pointed to the door to his loft. It took me another moment to realize that he wasn't speaking to his father in that moment, but to me. He was directing his hatred against me... why? I hadn't done anything._

_ I felt at loss for words. There was nothing left of the lovable, flirtatious student I shared beds with the other night or who wrapped his wet, teasing arms around me just moments ago in his kitchen. I felt my mouth opening and closing, still in the process of comprehending what the fuck had happened in a blink-of-an-eye moment. Who was this angry young man in front of me? _

_ I was still not completely in control of myself, when, without another word or warning, I got myself shoved to the elevator doors by none other than Jean. Lovable, gentle, cocky Jean, who was now nothing more than an antarctic blizzard of emotions. Cold and hard and cruel. His clawing fingers digging into my shoulders would leave nasty marks, I was sure.  _

“ _I said get out, you fucking fag. Spiking my drink with some friggin' crystal or whatever shit you queer scum take, so that I became submissive and let you do whatever gayshit you wanted me to do. Fuck off!” He pushed me into the elevator, so forcefully that my back painfully collided with the wall on the other end and had the audacity to even spit in front of my bare feet. I looked at him in shock, still too perplexed to protest or even defend myself against those horrendous lies of his._

_ This couldn't be happening... this was some bizarre nightmare, right? Right?  _

_ The elevator doors glided shut with a ring. _

“ _Jean...” I pleaded tonelessly, stumbling forward, trying to stop the madness before it was too late to forgive. I really hoped he was just kidding me. But when our eyes locked for an instant, all I got from him was a look of unspoken apologies and 'please understand's. Then the doors closed and the elevator moved downwards, the movement adding up to the sickness I felt turning my stomach._

_ How could I understand? _

_ The sensation of wet and hot tears streamed down my cheeks, as I clasped my hand over my mouth to stifle the unavoidable sobbing. _

__ Words can hurt. They can cut deeper into the flesh than any knife, touching places within you which should be out of reach. Jean had crossed by far too many boundaries in one single sentence on the scale of tact. His lies drilled their way into my heart and left more damage than a knife possibly ever could.   
  


 

* * *

  
“...well, and then I took the walk of shame back home.” I finish lamely waving my hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. Now I'm feeling awkwardly detached. And I've probably cried so many tears in the meantime, it appears that I'm drained of tears. The former painful throbbing in my chest is reduced to a numb prodding. This state doesn't exactly feel bad, but it also doesn't feel good.

Bertholdt and Reiner exchange glances once again. Neither of them speaks a word at first, but after about five minutes of tense silence Reiner sighs and ruffles my hair. “I know, you probably don't wanna hear it, but that guy doesn't deserve you. There are bigger fish in the pond, ya know. And you're kinda the biggest fish there is. So, uh, naturally, everyone wants to have you, right? What I mean, is just pick someone else, there are plenty guys interested in you, so you shouldn't feel down because of one single douchebag. Pick someone who's worth you and... uh... yeah.” He tugs at his collar and averts his eyes. One of his nervous habits.

That's basically the most ridiculous metaphor I ever heard. Reiner just doesn't go well with words at times. But it still kind of makes me smile a little bit. “You're an idiot, Reiner.” I quip with a snort and idly kick my foot against his calf. 

“The biggest idiot on the planet.” Bertholdt agrees. 

Usually Reiner would laugh it off and both of them would start squabble playfully. They're like that, always teasing like an old married couple. So, when the laugh never came, I examined their faces closely. It wasn't until then that I realized their stern expression. The thin line Bertholdt pressed his mouth into and I noticed his voice had been lacking the usual teasing tone. There's an odd change of atmosphere, a little bit awkward and tense, but I can't exactly pinpoint the message behind it. 

Maybe I'm just too much indulged in my own misery to care at the moment or maybe I just imagined things, but as soon as Reiner speaks up, ignoring his lover's criticism of sorts, my wariness leaves instantly. “Let's watch some movie, a'right?” 

I nod quietly, thankfully, as they don't want to pressure any further on the subject. Bertholdt wraps his long arms around my frame and pulls me close to his chest, while he himself leans back against the nest of pillows at their bedhead. I feel like coming home as I inhale Bertholdt's contradictory yet unique scent of strong musk and soft lavender. The cold in my bones is long gone and replaced by the warmth of tea. Being surrounded by my closest friends at the moment gives me the peace I need. 

And while Berthold drapes me in yet another heavy blanket, Reiner picks out _Galaxy Quest_ so I don't have to deal with too much love story shit and can have a few laughs at silly jokes. Both of them are so considerate, what else can I say.

I'm sandwiched between them, Bertholdt to my left and Reiner to my right, both of which radiate heat like stoves. It's cozy and easy to forget about time, before the training begins. And around the time we are half-way through the movie I find myself lulled into sleep by Bertholdt's steady breathing and the sound of Reiner's deep chuckling, which reverberates against my back.

I guess, despite it all, I'm still a lucky bastard to have them.

I can't imagine to be without them.   
  


 

* * *

  
I know the moment Erwin Smith calls me into his office – which is actually just his caravan – with the sternest of expressions on his face, that something is off. Even more so when I see Mike and Levi flanking his sides behind his desk, as I enter the sparse caravan. 

None of us wallow in luxury but Erwin is the one of us, who literally leads a spartan life. No trinkets, no electric light sources (Yes, he actually prefers tilley lamps), no plants, no fucking anything that is not absolutely necessary. I bet he also doesn't use hot water in his morning showers. Inwardly I take him for the kind of guy who just braves the coldness of nearly frozen water. But maybe I'm totally wrong and maybe I'm even a bit unfair. He's never been incredibly personal, but that doesn't mean I can judge him for it just like that.

Anyway, I'm standing there, a bit forlorn in front of his desk, facing the three man who obviously are displeased with something I did. Is it my performance? Is Levi complaining about my questionable lack of rhythm? He nearly got into hissy fits last time we practiced because of that. Or is this even the point were I get fired? Oh please Lord, have mercy. I don't want to get kicked out of the circus I love so much. 

Where am I to go?

What else can I do but this for a living?

Why-

“Please, take a seat, Marco.” Erwin offers, interrupting my eager mind, with a small smile gracing his lips. My eyes flick to Levi and Mike for an instant but both of them have their gazes fixed on our ringmaster. Silently I nod and sit down on the cheap plastic seat in front of the desk, nervously fumbling on the hem of my shirt, fixing my gaze on the blue eyes directly in front of me instead of, what I would certainly prefer, looking down at my feet.

My throat feels really dry as I swallow, bracing myself against whatever awaits me, while the cogs in my mind resume their fatal thinking process.

“Sir?” I croak, while my brain comes up with one disastrous scenario after another. 

The tension is killing me, but Erwin takes his merry time, taxing me with his piercing look and making me squirm within my seat. I suppress the urge to dart my eyes across the room and search for something to anchor myself. 

“I know that you have an issue about certain fears and nervous breakdowns.” He starts in a deep, professional voice. “By any chance, do you have prescribed medication to prevent panic attacks or anything... drug-like to dull your unfortunate condition?”

Wait... what? 

Levi clicks his his tongue in annoyance but doesn't say a word, when he receives a sharp glance from Erwin, while I'm still slightly taken aback by his question.

I squint my eyes, in hopes of finding a crack in Erwin's perfect pokerface. There's no hint of what he's up to, though, no cracks at all which could possibly enlighten me. 

“No, Sir. Drugs would have a fatal influence on my work. My concentration and condition would suffer tremendously.” I answer in honesty and try to figure out, why exactly Erwin assumes I'd be so reckless. “I don't even smoke weed or tobacco. I sometimes drink alcohol, though. But everybody does that once in a while.”

“Goddammit, Erwin. He's clean. Get him checked by a doc and he'll tell you exactly the fucking same. Bodt's practically a fucking saint, remember? You can't blame the kid fo-” Levi is cut short with a sharp gesture of Erwin's hands. He doesn't even look at the shorter man, but keeps his eyes fixed on me.

Can't blame me for what? What's going on?

“I didn't ask if you take them. I asked if you possess anything of the likes... and, speaking hypothetically, use it to drug others for... your own benefits?” 

What? 

“No. Why would you assume I-” and then, while I am defending myself against Erwin Smith's accusations, it hits me. It's been two weeks since I last saw Jean, but his words will forever be burned into my memory. And just like that they pop up in my mind like a grim reminder.

_ 'Spiking my drink with some friggin' crystal or whatever shit you queer scum take, so that I became submissive and let you do whatever gayshit you wanted me to do.' _

“This is about Jean Kirschstein, isn't it?” I whisper. It still feels surreal, as I detach myself once again completely. My mind is blank, my voice is dry and my words seem hollow. “Did he tell you I drugged him?” 

There's a silence. A long one, I notice, but cannot bring myself to care. I take it for a 'yes'. 

There is a shitload of questions buzzing in my head, like angry wasps ready to sting, like 'What have I done to deserve this?' or 'Why me?' or 'What if I could turn back the hands of time?'. Questions plenty of people had asked themselves before, but never were granted a valid answer.

I have no answer, either.

Bad luck, maybe?

I don't know.

“Marco... would you confirm in front of the law that you never drugged Jean Kirschstein?” Erwin asks, unfazed by my internal shock. He's a business man after all. He has not the capacity to care for the misery of a single soul. The individual doesn't count when one has to ensure the greater good of the entirety. How could I blame him for that? He's a good man, a great leader.

A man who wouldn't hesitate to prize our needs above his own. Or mine.

“Marco?” I look up, my eyes burning. He asked something before. I noticed, yeah, I noticed that. But my mind is still busy with processing a way of reciprocating properly to all the weight which is dumped upon my shoulders. 

How does one react in a moment like that?

My eyes wander to Mike who keeps his eyes firmly trained on Erwin. So, he's clearly avoiding me. There's a rumor that he can tell lie and truth apart by smell alone. If so, he will confirm to Erwin later on that I'm not lying.

Levi on the other hand is looking straight at me now. His eyes dull and unreadable as ever. I cannot say, if he'll believe my words. I hope he knows me well enough to trust me.

“How would I not...? I did not drug Jean Kirschstein.” 

Rage makes people blind and defensive. It's like a red rag, fatal in a way. Unlike most people's believes, I’m not incapable of getting truly pissed about something. I'm not proud, whenever I think back to the moments I lost my temper. Think of it like a sleeping volcano, pushed and pressed by drifting continental plates until it stirs. Another push will send it over the edge and make it erupt, burying everything living underneath a stream of lava. 

Something snaps the moment I say those words. The anger boils deep within me. I'm on the brink, I can feel it. Another push is all it'll take. 

At the equation's end, I'm just a human like everyone else... 

Erwin seems to relax a bit. His stiffened shoulders slump barely but visibly. He heaves a frustrated sigh, though. “We received a writ of subpoena from the Kirschstein family's lawyer. I know it's not your fault, for I believe your words, but still... this means trouble. A lot of trouble. I won't sugarcoat this, Marco, you just messed with the wrong boy. Kirschstein Industries is kind of like the unofficial ruler of Trost. Nearly sixty percent of Trost's population work in Roderich Kirschstein's factories and the city administration gets their revenues mostly supplied by said corporation. And Roderich Kirschstein's only son and heir of the Kirschstein empire, Jean, obviously accuses you officially of drugging him into sexual intercourse. This will get into the local news... and it will become a big affair to deal with.”

Just a push into the wrong direction...

“Bullshit!” I exclaim, shaking my head and snorting with laughter. “This is bullshit. So much bullshit!” The rage I expected is welling up instantly and before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm up on my feet, palms planted firmly on the tabletop of Erwin's desk, shouting at the director and about to lunge at his throat, like it's his fault. The chair behind me makes a nasty screeching sound as it scratches over the floor, before it crashes to the ground from the sheer force of it. 

Erwin backs off slightly, seemingly fairly surprised by my sudden outburst. Good. I know it's not his fault, but it still feels undeniably good. 

Well, up until now, I never actually lost my composure in the circus. It must be shocking. Even Levi seems itching to step in and prevent escalation.

“Marco...” Erwin tries once again but, this time, I cut him off.

“No!” I bark. “No, this is discriminating! It's far-fetched bullshit! And I will not calm down! I haven't done anything he didn't want! I'm innocent, goddamnit!”

It feels so good. 

The release. 

Letting of steam I had bottled up for way too long. 

I'm done with nice and kind, if this is what I get for it. Fuck saint pushover Marco Bodt. Time to fight back.

“Fuck. Here we go.” Levi hisses through clenched teeth shooting Erwin a glare. “Told you that this is gonna happen, if you push him too far.” He quickly marches to my side, dragging me with force out of the caravan. I struggle against his unfathomable power, but to no avail. Despite his size, Levi's much stronger than me and, using the momentum, he sends me flying with a quick roll over his shoulder as done in Judo combat. Any reasoning is lost to me until the moment I taste the metallic flavor of blood in my mouth. Damn, I accidentally bit my tongue. I spit the distasteful and gross mix of saliva, blood and dirty sand at the ground. “Jeez, brat, calm your horses!”

I cough and scramble up on all fours, looking up at my trainer with blurred vision. The sand and dirt in my eyes is itching, and it's hard to focus, but I guess I know which kind of gloomy expression is plastered all over Levi's face I've never indulged myself in anger, but it's quite consuming and despite better knowledge I'm being stubborn and brood in it for a little bit longer. “This is unfair! Those are lies! Kirschstein's lying!”

“I know! Fuck, Marco, I know!” Levi snaps back, rubbing his temple with the fingertips of his left hand. “ _We all_ know. But it's not us suing you! Don't you fucking get that?”

“Tzk!” I spit at the ground once again. My fingers clench tightly around the patches of grass underneath my trembling hands. Yeah, of course I get that, but still..

“What's going on here?” I hear Krista asking from somewhere close behind me, her voice unusual stern and demanding. Shortly after I see a blurry figure kneeling down at my side. I assume it's her, when I feel small, warm hands caressing my face. “You're bleeding, honey. But else, you're alright?” She asks sweetly, soothingly and the anger I felt before evaporates into thin air the second she pulls me against her soft chest. 

Oh... right.

Her gift. 

I guess, I just experienced it firsthand. She actually managed to tame the wild beast which took control over my mind and body. I nod, relaxing and feeling the foreign tension oozing from me.   
  


 

* * *

  
“Ouch. Annie, be gentle!” I whine at the sharp pain. 

She sighs. “Don't be such a pussy, Bodt.” Ruthlessly she swats at the hand which I brought up for protecting my sensitive eye against her maltreating. Then she dips a cotton ball into the antiseptic solution she prepared and presses it with the help of tweezers against the cut on the corner of my right eyebrow. A small, amused smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as I hiss and curse under my breath. Note, that she just really is sadistic.

“It stings...” I protest, feeling kind of mopey and childish at the moment. I think I have every right to be with the news pending above me like the Sword of Damocles and everyone else of the crew knowing about it by now.

Annie rolls her eyes and motions for Krista to bring her the first aid kit she's holding. “The wound's dirty as fuck, Marco. Do you really want to risk losing your eye due to inflammation?” She asks, focusing on her task at hand.

“T-that's a bit drastic, isn't it?” Bertholdt pipes in, all concerned, while constantly pacing back and forth in the slim aisles between the boxes of the stable. For some reason he's pondering and he's making me nervous with his nervousness. Why, of all places, we do the cleaning of my little cut eyebrow and split lip in a setting which reeks of horse dung and is conquered by nasty insects just as horseflies, is beyond me, either. 

“You have to talk to Jean, Marco. He'll change his mind, I'm sure. He didn't seem to be a bad guy.” Krista says, while not-too-tenderly placing a patch on my freshly cleaned wound. Meanwhile Annie proceeds to torture my split lip with her Antiseptic Cotton Ball of Doom. Women are cruel beings.

I try to sound serious. “I won't.” But I fail miserably. It comes of more like a whimpered pout. Goddamnit. That blasted cotton ball on my tender lips. 

“But he's the one suing you.” Reiner argues, scanning through the copy of that crappy lawyer's letter which informed the circus management of my 'criminal offenses'. “Even though he knows he has no right to, since he made this all up. Convince him to quash the indictment.”

I grumble and roll my eyes. Yeah sure. I'll just walk to Jean's loft, ring the bell and talk to him nicely over a cup of tea. Suuure~ “I doubt this'll work.” 

“You have his number, Bodt-y?” Annie asks suddenly, already fishing for my mobile and turning on her heel as she gets her hands on it. 

_Fuck._ I didn't delete Jean's entry yet. Didn't want to have to think about the guy too much if it could be avoided, you know? Now I realize that this was a grave mistake. 

“Oi... oi Annie!” She's already skimming through my contacts. Oh please, Lord, no. No no no no noooooooooo... not Annie calling Jean.

Annie whips around and gives me a thumbs up. I guess she means that the number is connecting. Her expression is still adamantly disinterested, though. So, I cannot tell for sure. I shake my head vigorously but she merely counters with a curt nod.

Meanwhile, Krista keeps me in check by motioning Reiner to press me down on the bale of straw by placing both his bear-like paws on either shoulder. He's always such an abulic tool before the eyes of petite Krista. They work against me. Curse them. All of them, even Bertholdt who's still pacing that goddamn aisle nervously and tries to smart up a plan. 

I can only do so much as witness as Annie's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, before she presses the loudspeaker button for us all to hear what Jean Kirschstein has to say.

“-the fuck...? Ugh... Sorry. I mean, Jean Kirschstein speaking...?” His voice sounds dry and strained, like he just woke up from a good night's rest. I take no pity on him though. I'm still sort of busy with fighting the uprising panic.

“You have thirty minutes to bring your sorry ass over to the circus.” Annie announces coldly looking at me sternly as I open my mouth to protest. Damn that woman. I shut my mouth again. Nothing ever good came from offending the blond tightrope walker. 

“Who's there...?” Jean sounds confused and, to my satisfaction, a little too shaken. I'm not one to hold on grudges, but I guess it's perfectly understandable right now, I re-arrange my value propositions a little bit.

“Doesn't matter. You will be here within the time limit or I'm gonna hunt you down.” Oh my God. I've never noticed before, but Annie would make such a great terrorist. Even I feel a shiver running down my spine due to her threat. “Got it?”

There's a short silence on the other end. “Understood.” I think, I hear a swallowing sound. For a moment it seems there's not coming any more from Jean's side, but then he speaks up again. “Hey, h, whoever's speaking, is this about... about Marco?” He sounds so drained and downcast that, for a moment, the cruel glee I felt before slips away and is replaced by concern. I shake my head. No... I must be imagining things.

“You bet. Twenty-five minutes, Kirschstein.” Annie quickly cuts the connection by pressing her manicured thumb on the hang-up button. Her blue eyes narrow a bit as she looks at me. Then she takes a look around at the others. “Guys, we're getting Marco's ass out of this.” 

I flush bright red as everyone nods with a determined expression on their faces. That's... I feel overwhelmed with pride and happiness. This is my family. Working together, trying their best to help me. It's touching. 

I feel Reiner massaging my shoulders softly, caringly, while Krista still takes care of my split bottom lip. 

“Couldn't we, uh, just threaten him or something?” Reiner offers. “You're pretty good at that, Annie, by the way. We could also beat him up. I feel like hitting that smirk off his blasted face.”

“Reiner! That's not nice.” Krista chides sternly and Reiner flinches. Petite as she may be, Krista is still badass at times. “Well, but when the chips are down, I guess, we have to rely on brute force.” The strange malicious sparkle in her pale blue eyes and her contradicting chipper voice startles me. Woah, Krista has her eyes set on payback it seems. Scary thought.

Bertholdt suddenly stops dead in his track and kind of bumps his fist into his flat, upturned palm before he raises his index finger as, I guess, finally an idea strikes him. “Of course!” He exclaims. “I'll go get Hanji.”

Okay, this is definitely going to be torturous for Jean. I mean, Hanji...? They're crazy. 

“W-wait, guys.... just a sec!” I interrupt the hustle and bustle all around me. Taking a look at the puzzled expressions of my comrades, I cannot help the fond smile finding its way onto my lips. “Thanks. I just... thanks.” 

I cannot deny that I am sort of scared to meet Jean again. 

I cannot deny that I am scared of what will happen to me when it actually comes to an indictment... 

“That's what family is for, right?” Annie says almost softly, punching my shoulder comradely. There's even the tiniest of smiles on her lips. 

...but I'm glad that I'm not in this alone.


	6. Chapter 5: Jean Kirschstein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the boys sort some things out, Hanji's being their crazy self and Ymir is kind of hostile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delay again. D'x  
> I'm so sorry, but at least it's just one day. And there's not happening much, just random awkwardness and all... damn. But this chapter needed to be done.
> 
> Beware of the mistakes... this is still unbeta-ed, sorry sorry sorry. ;A;

Swollen lacrimals, dark rings under his eyes that match the size of the belts of Saturn, slouched posture and hollow cheeks emphasized by the sharp line of his cheekbones - all these are signs of high-grade fatigue. Jean releases a hearty yawn. Small pearl-like tears form in the inner corners of his eyes. With pointedly, pre-aggressive firmness, he swipes them away as he rubs his index finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose.

I almost evolve some sort of weird sympathy for him as Hanji rattles on and on about various things as if they hadn't spoken to any living soul for approximately half a millennium. They're so incredibly loud that we can hear every word of them even behind closed doors and nothing of what they say holds water in the sense of context. Everything just seems to blurt out of their mouth at random. There's no point, no golden thread at all. And judging by the expression on Jean's face he doesn't have any clue why he's here or what his dialogue partner is on about or how on earth someone deserves such torment.

Yes, I almost sympathize with him. Tired and worn out like he looks.

Almost, because, well, he still brought it upon himself in a way and I'm still sort of angry.

Jean's gaze wanders sideways to the person sitting to his left. A lanky brunette girl with constellations of freckles on her face and a hostile scowl. I don't know who she is. She may be his girlfriend, but she might as well be one of his fellow students. All I know is, that she's definitely not his stepmother-to-be since I caught her name when she introduced herself to Hanji as _Ymir_.

She catches Jeans gaze and gives him a noncommittal shrug, then leans back against the backrest of the worn-out leather couch we keep in our common room slash guest room which actually just happens to be a shabby shack on wheels. While Hanji gets on about the mating rituals of Flemish Giants, Ymir picks at her ear and follows the track of a blowfly with mild interest.

Sceptically I look at Bertholdt and Annie who are standing beside me right now and watch the scene unfold with slightly different reactions. Bertholdt shakes his head in disbelieve muttering something along the lines of 'Oh my God' and 'why did I think getting Hanji was a good idea', while Annie presses her lips firmly into a thin line and throws some sort of warning glares at me each time I move too much for her liking. Yeah, I get the message without her saying a word.

 _Don't fuck this up, Bodt._ _Don't interfere._

De facto she is convinced I cannot hold my ground against Jean Kirschstein. I'm too weak, too soft, too caring for the bitter warfare that is crosstalk, she says. So much for having confidence in me, thank you very much. To be fair, I do admit she may be right to doubt me. I am soft and forgiving, even to douchebags like Jean. But I refuse to standby watching the calamity that is Hanji spilling verbal diarrhea on a very confused and pissy-looking student who just happens to be the only way out of this wretched denunciation.

Aversion will get us nowhere. And it's still my fault that it came to all this.

„Annie..." I sigh and throw the short, blonde woman a pleading look. „...please."

Annie's eyes linger a bit longer on the three people interacting in front of us, before she counters my look with one of her infamous taxing stares. I try my best to will the whimper down that's building in the back of my throat as well as I try not to flinch or in any way avoid eye-contact with her. I swear, she'll declare those all as signs of weakness and I absolutely have no intention to appear weak before her. I hope my eyes are full of determination and sincerity... I doubt it though.

She squints her eyes at me and for a moment my flight instincts kick in, making it so much harder not to falter under her intense stare. Annie is such a tough nut.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God... Lord help me._

Finally she nods but not without eliciting an irritated sigh first. „Fine. Whatever. Just know, if you allow yourself to be pushed aside by that Jean-guy, then I'll not only beat him to a pulp, but you, too. Understood, Bodt-y?" she hisses.

I chuckle slightly, nervously. Seriously I can't tell whether she's throwing threats or whether she's just pressing the right buttons, but I feel kind of challenged. I really hope she's just pressing buttons... Heaven forbid, if she's not!

„Do you want me to--?" Bertholdt starts, casting his tender, worried eyes on me, but I cut him off by raising my hand. He's incredibly pale and even sweatier than I've ever seen him. It's pretty obvious that this whole affair makes him even more agitated than me. He surely means well in offering to accompany me, but his nervousness would kill me on spot, before the heated discussion, which I'm sure Jean and I will be having, even starts. Bertholdt would certainly distract me and thus overstrain my patience. And that's never a good way of coaxing someone into voluntarily dropping charges.

„I'll manage." I blurt, a bit too strained and tense, so I soften my harsh words with a gentle smile. „Thanks for offering, though. But this time, I have to stand my ground on my own."

Haha... such big words. They do nothing to steady the nerves that are slowly ganging up in my throat to form a full-fledged lump.

It's hard enough as it is to look at Jean without getting consumed by an overflow of negative emotions. Talking to him may turn out to be even harder. But, in any case, it's easier to get this whole discussion over and done with right now instead of later in front of the law. I take a deep breath and release it with a soft hissing sound, preparing my edgy self for the inevitable.

_This is about you, Marco. No one else, but you. So get a grip already._

I clench my fingers around the doorknob...

_You're a grown man after all. Stand your ground for once._

… and turn it...

_And Erwin trusts you to be on tour with Wings of Freedom Circus next season instead of being locked up behind bars..._

… before I enter the shabby common room with more or less confident strides.

_Oh God, they wouldn't do that, sending me to prison, would they? Argh. Stop it Marco, that's not helping! Don't disappoint your comrades!_

"Hanji, uh, time-out..." I start in a tiny ass voice and instantly want to kick my lameness to next Thursday. Behind me, I can hear Annie moan in annoyance, before me no one seems to even have noticed my presence yet.

Hanji, rattles on without interruption. Ymir still seems to follow tracks of that blowfly encircling the ugly orange retro-lamp which dangles from the ceiling. Jean stares so intensely at his crotch that I would have guessed he took a nap if it weren't for his index fingers massaging his temples.

I scoff under my breath as sudden irritation – and a good portion of childish defiance – takes hold of me and kick the door shut with a loud bang. All three sets of eyes settle on me. Good. The silence is expectant, all undivided attention goes on me. _Oh, fucking brilliant... what now?_

For a starters I clear my throat and rub the underside of my nose, thinking. "Thanks, Hanji, for taking care of our... guests. I think Erwin will still want to discuss, uh, matters with you and all. And, well, I'll handle this problem now." Hanji looks at me and I feel suddenly quite uncertain whether I kind of hurt their feelings or something. But then their huge bespectacled eyes form little crescents of joy as their grin grows wider and wider. It's scary how they resemble the Cheshire Cat so much.

"Marco, dear. Of course, of course." They state and rise to their feet. "Erwin still has to know aaaall about the new apparatus for my newest tricks, ya know. He's always so worried about the safety protocol, that spoil sport. I daresay, there's no fun in magic trick without risk, right?" Hanji enthusiastically winks at me, slaps my shoulder and spins around making pistols with their fingers and pointing them at me. "You cool with me leaving, Bodt-y."

"Yeah, I'm cool, thanks." I say, my gaze wandering to the remaining two people.

Jean is staring at me like I'm some ghost; his skin tone changing from a creamy color to a pale, almost sickly-looking white and his Adam's apple bobbing frantically up and down as he swallows audibly. I notice his pupils shrinking to a minimum inside the golden pool of his irises. Only God knows whether he's scared to face me or stressed out by the situation itself. But for some odd reason I feel more relaxed knowing these circumstances take their toll on each party. "Uh, Hanji? Can you please inform Levi that I'll be in for training a bit later?"

"Sure thing, dear." They assure with a huge grin and turn on their heel to leave the room. They stops at the door and spin around to look at me again, startling me with the sheer force of determination in their eyes. "Oh... and get 'em tiger!"

"Yes, Sir." I answer, clicking my heels and saluting.

"That's ma boy." They coo, wiping a non-existent tear from their eyes and close the door. Despite my nervousness I have to chuckle at their words. God bless Hanji and their weirdness.

Well...

Here I am, now.

Alone with Jean Kirschstein and that harsh-looking Ymir.

Both of them are taxing me intensely now and for a moment I just close my eyes to cheer me on in my mind and will the jitteriness away, while simultaneously counting down from three. I sigh and open my eyes again, stepping forward and stretching my hand out at Ymir.

"Hello. We haven't met before, have we? My name's Marco. It's nice to meet you, even if the circumstances are a bit... questionable." I introduce myself with a smile.

"Ymir, delighted." She sneers, while looking me up and down with a skeptical expression. She doesn't take my hand, but instead leans back against the rest of the couch again, this time crossing her arms behind her head. She certainly makes me look like a fool. Well, what a bloody wonderful start into a discussion.

"Ymir..." Jean growls. He buries his face in his hands, hunching his body slightly to prop his elbows on his knees. While his fingers comb through the fuzzy mess that is his hair I notice the small cuts and patches wrapped firmly around said digits as well as the black oil stains around his nail beds. _He's been working on something_ , my mind registers and I frown at myself for memorizing that he's an engineering student and has an upcoming project which needs attention. "...can't you just...?" Without looking up he motions a dismissive gesture with his hand, pointing at the door behind me.

"Wanna be alone with your loverboy, Kirschstein?" Ymir mocks with a snicker and makes a raunchy gesture towards me. You know, the one where you stick your tongue against the inner side of your cheek, forming a dent on the outside... the one which implies a blowjob. Rude much.

Unfortunately though, the thought of Jean on his knees between my legs kind of manifests in my mind and sends the blood running to my cheeks and even worse, down to my crotch. I cough discretely. Suddenly the corner beside the sideboard gets _really_ interesting. 

"Oh my fucking God..." Jean rubs his face even deeper into his palms it seems. The tip of his ears turn a crimson shade. At least he has the decency to feel ashamed. "Fuck off already!"

Ymir cackles gleefully, as she swings herself on her never-ending legs and leaves the room, clutching her stomach.

"Marco, I'm so sor--"

"Well, that was int--"

We both start speaking at the same time and snap our mouths shut contemporaneously. It would have been funny, a hilarious way of breaking the ice, but instead it's awkward. Jean still refuses to look up, while I focus on staring down the small fridge we keep here.

 _'Marco, never can you ever have a discussion without offering your dialogue partners something to eat and drink. That's not a question of liking or not liking, but of manners and hospitality.'_ I can mentally hear my mother's scolding voice. There's not much, I remember of her quirks, but this one stuck to me. Hospitality was always of utmost importance to the Bodt family.

It may break the awkward atmosphere, I conclude with a shrug and begin to try my chances on that. The small glass bottles inside the fridge cling melodically as I search for the water between all that cheap beer, probably Reiner's. At the far back - I'm almost climbing into the goddamn fridge - I find some Volvic.

Inside the sideboard I find a fresh box of oat cookies. I neatly arrange them on a plate and set them on the gooey tabletop in front of Jean, before I pour some of the water into two glasses.

When I sit down opposite Jean again I notice him staring at the cookies. His eyebrows are tightly knit together in puzzlement. Maybe he thinks they're gonna attack him out of a sudden, maybe he simply doesn't like oat cookies.

"Serve yourself, they aren't poisoned." I say, snatching one of them for myself to emphasize my point while placing his glass of water on the table.

Slow as a snail on valium Jeans gaze wanders from the cookies to the glass of water before it raises to rest upon me. The utter bewilderment in his eyes makes me feel like I'm a lunatic and I struggle a bit to not shrink down in my chair, while self-consciously nibbling at my oat cookie. What's with that reaction?

"Seriously, dude...?" he blurts and in the next moment he clamps his hand over his mouth and blushes a furious pink. "I-I... I meant to say..." he splutters looking owlishly at me. "Meant to say thanks and... ohmygod... I just... thought... a-aren't you still pissed?"

I shrug and take a sip of my water. "Yeah, don't get me wrong, of course I still am. But that's no reason to forget about my manners, is it?" I say with a sulky touch to my tone. Narrowing his eyes at me Jean caught the not-so-subtle knock in this statement, I'm sure.

_No, Marco, behave. Both of us know how insufferable and imprudent you become, when you're letting yourself get bitchy._

Jean sighs. His gaze turns softer (understanding?) as he nods his head in comprehension, but mostly it's just tired, so tired. "I fucked up big, right?" He states with a huff. "I'm really sorry about... all that... I just... kinda snapped."

"Oh I noticed that." I retort a little bit of hurt leaking through my words. "You know what? Take that 'sorry' of yours and shove it up someplace where the sun never shines!" A indistinct snort escapes me at his poor attempt of an apology. "Because usually I'm not getting kicked out of Apartments accompanied by slurs and lies and a damn charge up my ass. No ' _sorry_ ' will make up for the embarrassment I felt or the shitty situation I find myself in at the moment." Okay, maybe I got a little bitchy at the end. Judge me.

He squints his eyes and I expect him to leash out at me once again for opposing him or something of that sort. What I don't expect, though, is the tiniest of voices coming from him. "Come again, please?"

Well, that kind of dazzles me.

"What's that about a charge, Marco?" He's up on his feet in like a blink of an eye and sprints over to me, placing both of his hands on either my armrests. He draws so close that I cannot suppress the exhale of a hiss. Damn, he's so close and intimidating and close and... Lord help me.

I moisturize my lips with the tip of my tongue, still trying desperately to not back off and flinch or even look at somewhere else but his intense golden eyes. Instead I shut my inner turmoil into a box in the back of my mind and focus on the facts at hand and the remains of fury left inside me. "I can live with your slurs. I can live with you being a cowardice douchebag who hasn't got the balls to tell his homophobic father that he likes dicks. I can live with the lies you spilled. After all, what am I more than a trivial fuck to you." He flinches visibly as I spit the last words. Good.

I would have inwardly congratulated myself for this achievement if it weren't for the pang in my chest.

"I can live with feeling entirely humiliated, as I took the walk of shame back to the circus with just boxers to cover me up in the midst of October, because you didn't even own the civility of giving me back my clothes, before you kicked me out."

He draws back now, his eyes full of pain and his face paler by the second. But I don't stop there. Rage fuels my veins as I rise to my feet clenching my fists and unload my feelings. I feel my eyes burn, but will away the tears.

Cursed be my emotionality.

"But I cannot... will not live with you having the audacity to sue me afterwards because of substance abuse. You know it's a lie. You made this whole shit up. I didn't drug you. I didn't do you anything but good. I defended you even against your father's poor arguments. So why..." And my voice cracks. "Why do you feel the need to wreck me?" It hurts so much.

The rage is gone. All it leaves is a bitter aftertaste and a cold emptiness within me. My arms wrap around my torso and I turn around to blink away the tears, hopefully without Jean noticing that I'm on the brink of crying. I take some steps away from him and stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, focusing all of my concentration into breathing calmly.

"Is that some kind of sick joke?" I hear him ask briskly.

A dry laugh slips from my lips. "Does it look like I'm joking?"

"Shit." Jean finally curses behind my back.

The next moment there's silence lingering in the air.

I inhale a shuddering breath and fish for the attorney letter in the pocket of my sweater, before turning back towards Jean and handing him said document with a hopefully stern look.

"There it is in black and white." I say flatly.

I nod when he reaches for the letter but hesitates to flick his eyes up at me as if he's asking for permission. It strikes me. Why does he look as if this all is news to him? He sued me. He should know what this letter is about, shouldn't he?

Jean takes the attorney letter in his hand and fishes for reading glasses – he's got reading glasses? – in the chest pocket of his shirt. I watch him placing the delicate, thin frame of it on his nose, before he scans the letter. I wouldn't admit it out loud, but he's looking even more handsome with those glasses.

He quickly skims through the protocols and bureaucratic texts, even seems to go over the fine print which is just quoting articles of law, while I awkwardly pace about. His eyebrows sit firmly in a menacing scowl once he finishes reading through it. Whatever is on his mind, I hope I won't end up on the receiving end of it.

"Shit..." he mumbles more to himself than anybody else. And then he repeats it like a mantra: "Shit, shit, shit! Fucking shit, goddammit! I didn't... I... Fuck... I hate my old man." He shoves the bundle of papers right into my chest, as he passes me by and paces the room with angry strides. All the while colorful curses leaving his lips.

I sink down on my chair again, putting the crumpled sheets of paper into the sweater pocket, just to keep my hands busy. Baffled, I watch him pace like a trapped animal and silently worry for my safety.

"Shit Marco!" He exclaims all of a sudden and I flinch at his aggressive tone. Gosh... what's coming now? Will he lunge at me? Kill me with a pocket knife? Beat me up? His eyes are wide and the black of his pupils is lost in a sea of gold and white, looking like a lunatic. God, his waywardness scares me.

He seems to notice my discomfort, for he apologizes quickly if clumsily and slumps back down on the couch, crossing his arms in front of his chest and sporting some kind of mopey expression. A rather contradictory behavior to his former Panic sort of state.

As much as his weird behavior strikes me, I can't deny that his moodiness holds a fascinating appeal to it. It's scary as hell, sure, but fascinating nonetheless. Almost shamelessly I stare at him, probably looking like an idiot, and he stares back at me, his harsh eyes softening again way quicker than I expected.

"Marco... it wasn't me." he pleads cryptically. 

I squint my eyes in thought, trying to make sense of his words. It takes a while, though, but I finally get what he's at. 

It wasn't him suing me.

It was his father... without Jean knowing.

The sudden realisation keeps me thinking. The cogs in my head start spinning faster, producing one fact after another and forming new questions. The most prominent of all: Does it change anything about how I feel towards Jean?

He didn't sue me, yes. But he still spun those lies... and he insulted and humiliated me.

On the other hand, Jean didn't seem to be himself on that morning. He'd been in panic-mode. Actually, in retrospect, he started to snap only once his father dropped that hideous German slur.

I sigh. _Why are you still thinking it over so much, Marco? Is it so hard to simply draw the line?_ For some odd reason it's Annie's voice chiding me. And she's probably right all along. I am weak and I am soft and I feel sympathy towards the sandy-haired student slash douchebag opposite me.

"Jean..." I begin but cannot think of anything else to say. Somehow I wish I'd have a ready tongue in moments like that. But I don't.

"I-I... straighten this out. I swear, Marco. I-I... it....." he offers clumsily and fumbles for more words, before he goes silent again and swallows, his eyebrows knit tightly together as he ponders on how to continue. At least that's what I hope he's doing. As the silence stretches again though, I'm sure this is all I get from him, when he suddenly dives his hand into his pants pocket. "I'll figure this out, Marco, seriously. Consider this case closed... j-just a moment... ugh... fuck... so tight... dammit... ah here you are!" With a triumphant smile he digs up his phone and presents it like it's the Holy Grail.

I don't have the slightest what he wants to tell me with that.

"You'll see. It'll be all fine and no worries!" he ensures and swipes his finger over the display, skimming through his apps. When he finally finds whatever he's searching for he rises his index finger to indicate for me to remain silent. I wasn't about to speak anyway, so well. Rude much, though. I'm still quite puzzled.

Obviously Jean chose to call someone, because shortly after his unnecessary gesture he brings the phone to his ear. I can hear the faint tooting coming from his speakers and the soft click shortly after. A female voice drones out something at the end of the line but the words get lost in the distance. Jean rolls his eyes and sighs in annoyance and impatiently starts rolling his arm through the air like he somehow can convince the woman like that to speak faster. It looks kind of funny and despite my constant bemusement I can't suppress a snorting laugh, even though I try not to.

He casts me one of his charming smiles and winks at me behind those glasses. Honestly? He really starts flirting again, now?

Just for the records, I do so not turn around in my seat to check whether someone entered the room without me noticing and stands behind me. And I so not blush like a teenage girl once I realize that isn't the case. I'm still a little pissed, mind you.

I successfully resist the urge to flick him off, but I don't stop the grumble. He seems unfazed, though.

"Yeah, hi there. Nifa, correct? It's Jean..." Jean says with a knowing smirk in my direction. "Of course, Jean Kirschstein. How many of your clients go by the name of Jean instead of ' _John_ ' or ' _Gene_ ', huh? Is Pixis free? It's kinda urgent... yup... uh, regarding the case against Marco Bodt and I really... oh, great!"

There's a melody coming from the speaker for a short moment, before a beaming male voice that even startles me shouts at Jean. Oh my God. Jean's poor eardrums...

The following discussion is summarized pretty quickly. Dr. Dot Pixis is not only the leading advocate of the Kirschstein family and their company, he's also Jean's uncle and brother of the Céline Kirschstein, Jean's deceased mother. They talk a lot, Jean and Pixis. Jean is forced to hear droll stories and anecdotes from the lawyer's life and said student accentuates the stories by making implying gestures of how drunk he thinks Pixis is. It's funny to say the least and I catch myself way too often giggling (yes, giggling) at his stupid mime play.

In the end it's just a matter of a few sentences and explanations to drop the indictment. All Jean Needs to say is that the 'whole shit' happened behind his 'fucking back' and that he will wittness for me if this 'suing-affair' doesn't stop 'right fucking here, right fucking now'.

Despite my better knowledge it touches me to hear those words. For a moment it feels like he's actually defending me against the evils of law.

I come to wonder if maybe we can learn to handle each other better after this.

I wonder, if Jean doesn't want to be my lover, then maybe he wants to be my friend...?

I wonder if it's worth to risk a repetition of that aweful morning, just to give a boy a second chance.  

There is this goofy, charming, big grin back on his lips instead of the dark scowl as he gives me the thumb up. I smile softly.

Yeah, maybe...

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	7. Chapter 6: Lovers To Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is doubts among Marco's friends about Marco's sanity, a date-which-is-not-quite-a-date and something wrong with Bertholdt and Reiner...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I did it again. I'm so sorry for the delay. Let's rename this part here from "Chapter Notes" To "Author's Apology Section". Dx  
> This time I don't even have excuses, just lazyness and unwillingness to sit behind a PC. I'm a stubborn fellow, I know. v.v Let's hope it never ever happens again. 
> 
> Anyway, WOW, so many clicks! öö You rocked the 1k clicks, that's so awesome I wanna die in happiness. And the Kudos and few comments really touched me and made me so, so incredibly happy. Yeah, I'm a pathetic sob, secret revealed. 8'D Just too happy to give a damn. Thanks, guys, thanks. Over and over again.
> 
> Turns out I had to split the chapter here... actually I had more planned for chapter 6 but it would have easily gone over 15k words... believe me that's an aweful lot shit. So, sowwy for the cliffhanger at the end of this... sort of? ^^;;

If you get to know Jean Kirschstein a little bit better, instead of just getting screwed and rejected by him, then you'll realise how fascinating a person he is. And I'm not saying this just because I always search for the good sides in another person, as Reiner vehemently claims.

I've got examples and profound evidence:

When Jean talks about his ambitions and his choice of work, he's completely mesmerizing. His smile will brighten and his voice will gain this little lilting sound to it. I swear to God I've never seen someone talking so thrilled about various types of metal alloy, choices of screws and nuts to pick, engine oil and whatnots. He's utterly merged into that subject and it's kind of beautiful to listen to his poetic enthusiasm about it. It's like a love declaration, really. And I only understood less than half of what he was on about.

Equally fascinating is the way he speaks about his friends. How unnerved he is by Connie's shenanigans, how Sasha will eat him out of house and home, how Ymir is a nuisance especially when she's drunk or sleep-deprived or - worst case scenario - both, how Eren Jaeger is Eren Jaeger (whatever that's supposed to mean) and how Mikasa is the most beautiful exotic girl he ever met, with the coldest attitude he ever came across and how she will certainly be his downfall one day. He also mentions some guy with the name of Armin as being the smartest kid ever with the aptitude to see right through you like your mind's an open book. And despite all his complaints about them I do not miss the fondness coloring his voice and the soft glint sparkling in his eyes. It's clear how much he loves them. He just doesn't seem to know how to express his gratitude properly and clings to nagging instead. Which is quite a cute habit, if I may say so.

His family, on the other hand, is a sensitive subject and an entirely different story. There's no fondness in his voice or glints sparkling in his eyes when he speaks bad about them. The only exception seems to be Boris.

However, as much as I try to explain this to my friends who cornered me right after I talked things through with Jean and him leaving with that pissy-looking, freckled peer of his, they still don't look all-too forgiving.

"You violenced common sense in each and every way possible. Marco." Ice-blue eyes narrow and pierce right through me.

"I know." I whimper.

"I have to agree. T-this was completely reckless and devil-may-care on top." A baritone voice affirms.

"I know." I sigh.

"Seriously Marco, what's going on up there?" A strong index finger knocks three times against my temple with way too much strength. Ow. Thanks Gods, the owner doesn't rely on shaking my shoulders. This would probably snap me in halves. "That dude's still a dick."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I know." I cry in agony and bury my face in my palms. Of course they are right. Jean did horrible things to me, things a simple apology wouldn't make undone. But... but!

"Uhm... I don't approve of it either." A hesitant, angelic voice speaks up. "You're way too forgiving, hon." As I peer through my fingers I meet apologetic crystal blue eyes. It can't be. Even Krista?

"Y-you too. Oh my God. Ohmygod." I mutter silently and draw my knees to my chest, folding myself thoroughly into a small piece of mess in front of my friends.

Inquisition is easy-peasy against those four guys and their judgmental stares and words. Annie, Bertholdt, Reiner and Krista are currently located in my caravan, camping around me like I'm the bonfire that keeps them warm. I usually like to have the bunch around but with their disapproval the atmosphere is really tense. It feels like they're ganging up on me. Annie shoots me one death glare after another. Bertholdt shakes his head in worry. Reiner gives me a look like he just realized I'm some sort of lunatic. And Krista's disappointed gaze feels like a knife stabbing right through my shoulder blades into my heart, twisting around in it for good measure. I know I shouldn't feel guilty for being kind-hearted, but they certainly make me believe I should be more of an asshole myself and less forgiving.

_They just worry about you, Marco. That's what friends do, right?_

But there's no more words I can come up with to convince them of Jean not being the utter jerk they see in him. He's a jerk, definitely so. I won't ever deny that. But he's some good kind of jerk, I just know. It's in his eyes. But how to put something like that down in words?

"Leave the brat alone." I jump at the sudden fifth voice's appearance coming from the door of my caravan. Unbeknownst to all of us, Levi obvioulsy sneaked inside and is now leaning against the aluminium door with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his usual unnerved expression on his face. Of all people to jump in for my defence, I never expected him to be the one. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing and he's old enough to take care of his own fucking business. Besides Marco is capable of finding good things in people. Finding, not just seeing. If he thinks Jean fucking Kirschstein is worth to be granted a second chance then you bunch of shitheads have nothing to say about that."

"But..." Krista tries but is instantly cut short by an infamous Levi-glare.

Annie mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'bullshit' and even Reiner and Bertholdt grumble a few insults under their breaths.

I sigh again before I clear my throat. "H-hey, listen guys." I start fumbling nervously at the hem of my Shirt, but, feeling the urge to make them understand that I'm not someone to be taken care of like an Infant, I make sure my gaze doesn't waver. "I-I want to thank you. For worrying, for trying to help, for your advices. Really. I'm grateful for all that. Jean may have hurt and disgraced me, spit on me even. I know that's a horrible dickmove... but... but Jean is..."

I stop mid sentence and lick at my lips.

Yeah, what exactly is Jean? What on earth lets me forgive him so easily, so volunteeringly, after everything he did? Why giving a stranger - a dick of a stranger, even - a second chance at all? Why bother if it's so much easier to just rid him like an annoying parasite?

Pictures of Jean pop up in my mind just then.

Jean's lopsided, cocksure grin, whenever he feels especially content or flirtatious.

Jean, who picked his little brother up in his arms with such tenderness and taught him such naughty rhymes unsuitable for children his age.

Jean's small note on the coffee machine with that little heart emoticon.

Jean, whose arms would sway through the air in flourish gestures whenever he talks about things he's interested in.

Jean's passion in bed, discovering each and every centimeter of my body with meticulous diligence.

And last but not least, Jean's tawny eyes which could glimmer in delight or dull in the deepest swamps of sorrow, which could reflect sublime kindness as much as flaming fury and bitter loneliness. If only one started searching for emotions behind the golden curtains to detect all these feelings, that is.

The pictures in my head makes me smile at each fond memory I already share with him. Are there already so many? Whatever, those are the catalysts I was searching for to defend his actions. Those are the pictures which will differ Jean from any other ordinary fling I had before.

"I think there are several wonderful character traits and shades hidden within Jean." I start. "There are also fears and doubts and way too much aggression to be called tolerable, but, as the saying goes, nobody's perfect. He has flaws like each of you, like me... come to think of it, he's a lot like me, especially regarding fears. But maybe he's a lot lonelier and... uhm... more sensitive-" a snort coming from Bertholdt interrupts me, but I shoot him a glare and don't think about stopping to speak my mind. "...more sensitive and more insecure than I am. He doesn't get the same support from family and friends that I get, so... that's probably the reason why he's a bit rougher and brasher than any ordinary person. But he's still... still lovely and sweet in his own way and there's still so much more to discover under the surface. And because of that I want to give him a second chance. I want to get to know him better, read him better and understand what drives him on." I close, daring anyone with my wandering gaze to contradict any of my arguments.

Annie still scowls, her face scrunched up in displeasure about my words. It will probably take a while for her to accept this. Bertholdt looks about the same, just with arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed deeply. He is worried and refuses to agree with me out of stubbornness, I can tell so much. I feel like reminding him who used to be so eager to hook me up with Jean in the first place, but that would just be mean and childish. He'll learn to trust me more with each baby step I take on my own.

Soft, warm hands place themselves on mine, squeezing them slightly. Krista, who is sitting right between my legs on the soft, carpeted floor of my caravan beams up at me, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. She gets as easily touched as myself. Then there is Reiner's hand smacking against one of my shoulders in a comradely yet way too hard manner and the gesture of camaraderie kind of ruins the moment of understanding going on between the petite blonde girl and me.

"Awwww, Marco. ain't you sweet? And wonderfully stupid and naive on top." He smirks broadly and sniffles a bit. He might seem like a bully from his exterior, but he's really a molten marshmallow on the inside. I pet his arm, thankful for his understanding and acceptance of my own decision. "Just promise me that I'm allowed to beat the shit out of this kid, when he hurts you again."

"Leave some pieces of him for me." Levi interjects with a smirk. "He'll get the beating of his shitty lifetime, if he dares hurting our Marco." His words kind of touch me even more. I would have never expected Levi to be so protective about me. I chuckle at my own pathetic tears which come popping into my eyes and stubbornly wipe them away. I'm just so happy.

"I can't believe you." Bertholdt suddenly exclaims and he's furiously whipping his long arms through the air. "Jean will hurt Marco again. Again and again. And all you do is cheer Marco on? What kind of people let their friends run into knives over and over again and give their blessings to this... this bullshit?"

"Oi oi, Bertl. Calm your horses." Reiner jumps in, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Like Levi said, Marco's old enough to decide on his own and he's definitely not stupid, no matter what I said before." He touches Bertholdt's arm, trying to calm him.

All he receives, though, is the taller and usually more taciturn man to violently yank his arm free from Reiner's touch almost and a snap. "What do you know?!" he hisses and storms out of the caravan, leaving everyone else, including me, stunned. Well, everyone but Levi. Levi is an exception of the rule as per usual.

I expect Reiner to run after him, try to talk sense into him, maybe even kiss him until he comes to his sense. But all the big blonde does is let his shoulders slump slightly and sigh.

"Get your boyfriend back, Braun." Levi Growls unnerved. "Erwin wants us all gathered in the common room in exactly ten minutes. We need to discuss our future plans. We've come to a decision."

"I'll get him." Annie states unusually soft and storms outside after him. Reiner just nods. What's going on there? Did they fight? That's so rare. And even more so... horrible. I remember them fighting once before and shudder inwardly at the memory.

Yet there's another fear clenching at my chest. Levi didn't reveal anything, but his voice seems stern and sort of grave. Maybe it's just my fretful imagination, maybe it's not.

I feel my heart sink below my knees.

So it's time for business...

* * *

So, Jean invites me to dinner a few days after our face-to-face debate. Equally few days after the grand news are spilled that our circus has indeed made enough money for us to try at least for another season next year. I'm probably putting the sun to shame with the way I'm beaming. It's just... really a relief. Just one Thing less to worry about.

But back to Jean.

I guess the invitation is his way of apologizing even more for the indictment incident. We're sitting in this fancy Mexican bar with fancy fruit-cocktails and a plate of fancy fried finger food for two. It's a nice place to be actually, but the prices in here are extraordinarily high and I feel slightly out of place surrounded by all that teal and pastel orange walls and ruby eyed Aztec mosaics of lizards and snakes. Even the blue-ish neon lights underneath the various bottles of liquors seem to glare down at my poor self. Really, self-consciousness is a severe problem on my behalf.

_Oh, I know I couldn't afford anything here, if I were without Jean. Don't look at me like that, expensive, judgemental liquor bottles._

"Well, what about you?" Jean asks out of the sudden, dipping one mozzarella stick into the gooey green guacamole, before vigorously snacking on it.

"What about me?" I question, slightly confused.

He rolls his eyes at me behind his wonderful reading glasses and points his cheesy stick at my nose. "C'mon. Don't play dumb. I wanna know about you. I told you so much about myself already, but I hardly know anything about you. Whereas your life must be much more interesting than mine, you being an artist and all that shit. So, it's your turn. Spill."

"My turn..." I mumble and rub my index finger under my nose while collecting my thoughts on how to start off, before I tilt my head slightly and settle for: "What exactly do you want to know?"

"Dude, are you kidding me? You're the fucking circus artist... uh, for a starter, how comes you joined Wings of Freedom?"

"Uhm... I performed in a park. Ballet actually. And without an actual concept or Music on top." I chuckle softly at the embarrassing memory. "Just me dancing ballet and gaining some money with my art... trying to gain a bit for a week worth of food. Uhm, Levi kinda showed up one day and told me that I've got potential. And, well, after I shared a shabby apartment with uncountable amounts of rats, cockroaches and equally disgusting parasites, I really needed a proper place to be and money, so I took the opportunity." I shrug and fish for a honey glazed chicken wing, dipping it into the salsa cup. I avoid looking into Jean' eyes in case there's disappointment about such a lame story in them. Or in fear of pity... I don't like pity much.

"And your parents were totally fine with your decision?"

I flinch slightly and release a sigh. Of course, he'd shamelessly ask such things. Well, it's not like he knows it any better. "My parents are dead...actually."

"Oh..." he says meekly, scratching over the back of his neck. "Didn't know that. Sorry. May I ask...?"

"They died in a car crash. I was nine, I had plenty time to deal with this, got over it and it's just okay now, I guess." It's my automatic standard answer to this topic, but it's mostly the truth. Once you admit and realize your parents won't come back no matter how hard you wish for them to and how loud you cry. They just remain gone. And the world just keeps turning mercilessly, whether you want it or not. Looking back too often is not an option, if you don't want to trip and fall on your way into the future. I swallow hard. It sounds logical and pretty easy, right? It's not. It never is where strong emotions are involved.

Sometimes, when I wake up in the night after a nightmare of some sort, I just want to be my nine year old self again, crawling into bed with my parents and nestling between their warm, reassuring bodies. Is that strange?

Sometimes I'd question the decisions I made. I'd curse and kick things through my caravan in frustration and I'd think about my parents. Would they be proud of the person I became or would they be ashamed? **  
**

And sometimes I wish I could return to Jinae. My birthplace, the town I grew up in, the town my parents' graves rest. But I'm too scared to look at their tombstones... just plain, light grey tombstones with their names and birthdates and the day of their dying engraved into. Nothing fancy. I couldn't afford fancy. I still can't.

Inwardly I'm preparing for the awkward silence which is surely to come after this. People always seem to pity me and I learned to not hate them for that. I never wanted pity, though. Pity would never help me or bring back my dead parents. Pity used to mke me angry even at some Point. But sooner or later I realized that people meant well, when they pitied me and who am I to judge their sympathy?

Jean seems to have different plans, though. "Well... ballet!" He almost-shouts and clears his throat, his eyes flickering everywhere but me. "So you did ballet?"

I have to admit, this takes me by surprise. And with a soft smile I acknowledge that Jean never ceases to surprise me it seems. It wasn't a smooth change of subject. In fact it was as far from smooth as can be. But he tried. And he tried because he must have sensed the change within me and he probably smelled the occurring awkwardness reeling up its ugly head. Another smile tugs on my lips. See, those are the little, lovely bits of action I like so much about Jean. These are the moments when he shines, as he's stumbling through the unknown territory of sweetness. Because, if he were an absolute douche, he wouldn't even try.

"Yeah, not professionally, though. One of the volunteers in the orphanage taught us kids sometimes. And she kind of taught me more than anyone else, because I was the only one actually interested in it." My smile enlightens even more at the thought of Mina Carolina, aforementioned volunteer. "She was great." I add with a sudden and unpredictable blush.

"You had a crush on her?" Jean smirks with a teasing undertone.

"No, I... no, she was like a big sister to me, Jean!" I protest, a bit too quickly maybe. Jean's grin broadens and I can tell he isn't believing a word I say. Okay, maybe I had been more heteroflexible or, don't know, sexually confused during my early adolescence than I like to admit. But I know for sure now that I have my eyes on guys only. Apart from Mina I never crushed on a girl and, honestly, she was nothing more than a silly childhood-crush-thing.

"You totally had a crush on her." Jean points out and goes for the bowl of jalapenos, eating them raw. Oh my god, I don't even want to know how hot those things are without nachos. "Don't stop just there. Go on. Tell me more about circus life."

I'm still a bit awed by his ability to stuff his face with jalapenos like it's nothing, but then I snap out of it and start explaining how I live at the circus, how my family there is like and what kind of TV shows I like apart from the plenty books I read. I told you before that I'm educated, right? Take a good guess why. My caravan is stuffed with heavy tomes on various subjects. I tell him about training sessions, how it was pretty tough at the beginning when I had no idea of an aerialist's work, but how I got drilled into perfection by Levi. Jean snickers as I tell him about the most nasty and embarrassing falls or accidents, because I was far from being a natural Talent at the silk. I even end up telling him a bit about my life in the orphanage.

And he listens closely, almost as if he's absorbing every bit of information I give him. Maybe he is. It's nice. Sharing stuff. Not that I don't share stuff like this with my friends at the circus. It's just... they're kind of in the same boat, while Jean is a complete stranger to circus life. And he cares. I can see that he does, whenever mirth pops up in his eyes or when he relaxes some more into his seat and throws his head back in raging laughter just at the right moments.

"Wow..." He says calmly after I'm finished.

"It's pretty cool, huh? My life, I mean." It's my turn to smirk and sound a tad bit smug.

"Yes, but no... I didn't mean that... I'm so sorry, man."

"Uh, huh? What exactly are you apologizing for?"

Jean blushes and sheepishly scratches the back of his neck again. I notice that he always seems to do that when he's apologizing, inwardly taking a mental note that this probably is one of his nervous habits. "Well, I mean. It's... your life is such a rollercoaster of goods and bads. Mostly bads. But you're still so optimistic and all-smiles, ya know? It kinda makes me feel even more like a dick. I mean, it's a wonder you're still talking to me at all after everything that happened. And now you spill all that shit... wow... I just... am impressed by your strength to cope, I guess?"

"Well, thanks." I say, a little flustered. "I-I'm trying my best. I just think that life's too short to just give up on it or to act all gloomy. And I think I wouldn't have turned out to be the person I am now, if things happened differently. I know, it could have turned out better, but... basically I'm totally content with what I have." I smile.

There's this lopsided smile again on Jean's lips and the soft sparkle in his eyes that I just can't define completely. But it makes me a little bit proud, I have to admit. I feel like he reserves it only for me. "Dude, I wish I'd be as strong as you are." he blurts and quickly covers his mouth, eyes bulging so much, I fear that they pop out of their sockets. He shakes his head with a grin, once he realizes I don't judge him for speaking his mind. "Nah, forget it. I'm pretty content about my life as well. Apart from some slips, obviously. I still regret I treated you like shit. That was such a dickmove."

"Let's not speak about that." I interrupt quickly. What happened happened and nothing will make it undone. That doesn't mean I want to hear him apologizing for it over and over again. "Though I'm a bit curious... why would you lie to your father about being gay? Do you think he's that unaccepting...?"

Jean snorts unamused. "Yeah, you've seen him, haven't you?" _Oh yes... oh yes._ "Well, he would kinda disown me, if I seriously start dating guys. He knows I'm bisexual, though. He just doesn't accept the gayness-part included in that."

I pick a prawn skewer and dip it into the ajoli - which is actually more of a Spanish sort of dish than Mexican - and nibble on the herbed treat in delight. I haven't eaten seafood in presumably two years. All the better it tastes now. While I enjoy the food I ponder on Jean's words.

"It's not like you can help this, right? You're not diseased or wrong just because you like boys equally as much as you like girls." He crosses his arms on the tabletop and hides his face in the hole between his forearms and torso. I can see him deflating as he utters a defeated sigh. His shoulders slump. From his reaction I take it that this is not the first time that he hears such words. Still I feel obliged to continue my little speech. "Jean, I know very well that our... our tryst wasn't just a one-sided thing. You liked it just as much as I did until your father showed up. Correct me if I'm totally mistaken." I pause. He just waves his hand dismissively at me with a grunt. I interpret his gesture as him telling me I was not mistaken. "So, there's just one Thing to sort out: Would you rather live in denial for the rest of your life like a coward or will you grow some balls and tell your father that you won't have him control your love life."

"But I _am_ a coward." He winces miserably. "I thought I made this perfectly clear how much of a fucking coward I am."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, yes you did." Maybe I agree with him on that, but it doesn't stop me from trying harder. I poke him on the shoulder restlessly and when he doesn't react in the slightest I kick against his shin. "Would you stop moping? Man up, Kirschstein, don't dwell in your own pity party."

"Ow! Goddammit, Marco!" He snaps and finally his head re-emerges from its self-exile with an endearing pout.

I counter him my most angelic smile and admire the way his slicked back hair returns to its usual dishevelled self as I ruffle through it. It just suits him so much better when it looks like a electroshocked squirrel died on his head. "So? Are you going to tell your father off next time you date a guy?"

"Fuck you." He retorts grumpily but with a semi-smile on his lips. Though, before I can reply with a smug 'Bring it on.', he fishes his smartphone from the shirt pocket and dials a number.

"What are you doing?" I ask temporarily puzzled by his odd behavior.

"I'm telling my father off."

"What? I said, when you-" Oh. OH! Another blush creeps over my face as I catch his 'well, took you long enough'-expression. He thinks... For him this is a, excuse my language here, fucking date. He's fucking dating me. Right. Now. Oh my God. Ohmygod!

But wait. No no no no no! 

That's not what I want, is it?

Is it really not what I want?

No, it's not what I want. It's...

I wanted to be his friend in our second chance. Not another date. Not... oh god, he's looking at me like I'm food.

_No, no! Bad Marco. Get a grip! Breath in! Breath out! Yeah, good Boy... now get your hands on his phone!_

"No Jean! Stop!" Without another moment of hesitation I lunge over the table for his phone and snatch it from his hand. I choose to ignore the various stains of dips on my shirt (I didn't exactly care to put those damn cups away before I bent myself across the table) once I have it and click the red hang up button. "No, Jean. This is _not_ a date. I offered you friendship, nothing more than that, but also nothing less." I exclaim, narrowing my eyes at him. "I’d never have agreed to this, i I knew it was meant to be a date."

His cocksure grin is washed away instantly and a frown takes over. "Y-you mean... but Marco-" He starts but I cut him short.

"No."

"-the flirting...?"

"No."

"-the chemistry between you and I!"

"No!"

" _Marcooooo._ "

" _No_ , Jean!"

"Fuck! Fine!" There is his raging fury again. The one I don't like, the one I should have expected. "Just fine." He turns around, ready to make a scene by stomping off, but I catch his wrist before he can do so much. I won't have that without an explanation on my side. Surely he must understand my reasoning.

And he does. He does understand that I felt hurt and betrayed so much that dating shortly after is not an option any longer. He does understand that I need time. He understands I need to learn to trust him again... step-by-step.

Just before he understands he kind of makes a scene. He hurts. He cuts with words. He lashes at me. Purposefully.

And in that moment I see the nasty side of Jean I wasn’t supposed to see again so very soon. I tell him that. I tell him how much his words hurt. How I cannot plunge into an fling-maybe-even-relationship like this, because I don’t trust him, because he's so temperamental, so unnervingly spiteful when something doesn't go his way. I tell him that he can promise whatever he wants, but I won't trust his words, when he’s already lashing out at me again like that... just because I rejected him.

Nevertheless, I can see he's hurting. I can see the anger flaring behind a wet curtain of tears he so desperately tries to blink away. He pours out his heart to me in a way that is not common but unmistakable. It's his way, the blunt, dick-ish Jean way of being defensive. And this time I cannot be pissed with him, for trying to protect his dignity like a mother wolf protecting her cubs; with bared teeth, wide eyes and sharp snaps. Instead I want to hug him.

And that's what I do.

The people around us start to stare at us as he first punches me in the side like a punching bag in irrational anger and misery, before he slowly, slowly comes down from his temper tantrum, as he opens his mind to my wheezing and softly spoken reasoning. He doesn't mind the voyeurs and I don't have the strength to care. Deep down I know that he knows I am reasonable and he’s just stubborn. It takes a while, but finally he relaxes and frees himself from my embrace. He sinks back onto his chair and buries his face in his palms. His shoulders aren’t shaking, but they are tense. It hurts to see him so broken, but I can’t just switch my doubts off like that. He needs to prove that he's trustworthy and at the Moment he proved once again he's not worth my trust.

“We’ll work through this, I’m sure.” I say, petting his shoulder gently. “Just give me some time and... Jean... you have to do something about your anger management issues.” **  
**

* * *

I exchange texts with Jean later that week. We still have each other's numbers and it’s fun to entertain the grumpy student when he complains about his boring classes. There seem to be plenty.

He started texting me first on Wednesday, three days ago and three days after our 'date'. Of course he had to start by apologizing for his behavior yet again and equally thanking me for being there for him and trying to talk sense into him… as a friend. He said it worked wonders on him an that he got some appointments with the university's therapist to work on his issues.

I think I can be proud of saying that I actively change Jean Kirschstein for the better. Or at least I hope he'll change for the better. We will see how the therapy thing goes and if it will solve some of his problems. 

While texting he’s still shamelessly flirting, though.

Seems like he’s some sort of roly-poly doll; no matter how hard you beat him, he’ll just come straight back up again. That’s good. Takes some bad conscience off my shoulders. And all those pickup lines are actually pretty flattering and, do I dare say it, funny. Most of the time I'm laughing my ass off. Most of the time he actually expects me to.

He was right about that chemistry part during our 'date'. I can feel it, too.

But still... I just want to be sure and safe. Just being friends is good enough for me at the moment.

Well, currently he texts me about Ymir’s love-stricken un-attentiveness which infuriates him, because he also has to do all her work in joint Projects now as well. She just seems to appear completely unfocused during classes and  _merrily dwells somewhere in the lala-land-of-fucking-lovey-dovyness_ as Jean so eloquently put it. And she seems to be knee-deep in the waters of love. Jean actually suspects it’s about Krista or Annie. Because all Ymir obviously says about her crush is _'that blonde circus goddess'_.  

We kind of scheme to meet and make some double date thing. (Annie is going to kill me, but well) Just pretending to double-date, I remind Jean sternly, because I’m still not going to date him so soon. He sends me a lot of pouty-face smileys as a reply and I just have to laugh at his desperate attempts. Seriously, he’s trying too hard now to take him serious. But I still find it endearing that he chooses to fight instead of giving up easily on me.

I’m about to entertain Jean with some ideas of how we can meet up in a café with all our girls attached in order to decide whose eyes Ymir’s fell upon, as a knock disturbs the silence of my caravan.

Mildly confused I hop of my bed and open the door.

I instantly cringe at the sight before me.

"C-can I...?" Bertholdt starts his voice breaking terribly. He clears his throat. "I-I need a place to s-stay for a while." **  
**


	8. Chapter 7: A Fairytale Relationship?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is Bertholdt's and Reiner's background story, some fatal news and a fluff and comforting session between too a-dork-able young man...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick update before I go to hospital tomorrow. Hope I won't stay in there for too Long and will find some time to write in between. :3
> 
> I apologize this time for the absence of Jean in this chapter. He's just mentioned here and there, but I hope you enjoy the little fluffiness part. Get your tissues ready. There'll be a lot of tears involved. ;A; Meh...
> 
> BTW, would you guys like a tag at tumblr? I think, then I'll go for "CircusTMSOL".

_Once upon a time there were three boys who were meant to be together. They met first in a toddlers playgroup where their mothers would become best friends and thus the little boys were at each others houses frequently together. They'd grow up together and run through kindergarten, elementary school and middle school all together._

__

_Then in their freshmen year of highschool, one of them would move away, because his father got a new job far far away across the ocean in another country. The remaining two boys would frequently skype with their friend, but Berik found other friends in their stead and broke contact with them eventually._

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_The remaining boys were sad, but this occasion would only draw them further together and they swore they would never ever part ways._

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_Then, at the beginning of their senior high school year, one of the boys discovered that his friend meant more to him than just a friend. He loved him. He loved him so much that he wouldn't stop asking him for a date. The other rejected him each and every time, because he wouldn't want to risk their friendship._

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_It was special to him._

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_But finally, after drifting almost apart completely and after realizing that he too had romantic feelings towards his best friend, he finally agreed when they were in their freshman year of college. They dated exactly three times._

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_The first date was a disaster. They ended up getting kicked out of the restaurant into the pouring rain for being 'faggots'. But they simply laughed it off and sung "Singing in the Rain" while dancing mindlessly through the streets like the big dorks they were._

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_The second date was another disaster. They ended up getting kicked out of the ice cream parlour. This time not for being faggots per se, but for performing too much PDA in front of innocent children. They were too embarrassed to even kiss goodbye after that._

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_The third date, though, was perfect. They went to watch a movie marathon in the bigger city, shared a huge bucket of popcorn and went to a gay bar afterwards. One customer of said bar would hit blatantly on the taller one of them and the bulkier one of them would beat the shit out of that pervert for even daring to come near 'his boyfriend'. The taller one didn't like violence very much, but he would find it endearing how the other protected him vigorously and how he called him his boyfriend._

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_From that day on they were established boyfriends and, though, like any ordinary couple,they had a fight here and there, nothing could really ever tear them apart._

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_They weren't tolerated by townfolk society though. After college it was hard for them to find jobs in their homophobic hometown. Even their parents didn't approve of their relationship, no landlord would rent them a place to be and no shop or company seemed to be fair enough to judge them by their Expertise instead by their sexual preferences. None of them would see their happiness and it was the greatest disappointment that people were so eager to put obstacles in their ways._

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_Homeless, jobless and starving they decided to leave their hometown and start anew someplace else._

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_Soon they would learn that the famous American Dream didn't seem to count for gays and therefore was harder to achieve than they expected. But eventually they found a troupe of friendly circus people who would welcome them and train them according to their talents until they became illustrious artists._

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_Thus is the fairytale of Reiner and Bertholdt... as I was told by them._

 

* * *

 

I rummage in my caravan to set up a kettle of hot water, preparing hot cocoa for the both of us. Bertholdt has been silent all the time and still is. It's nothing strange, though. Bertholdt is a rather calm and taciturn person most of the times.   

All he did up until now is sloppily hanging up his coat on one of the hooks at my door and slipping out of his shoes. He's still wearing his scarf. Not, because of him freezing, no. It is the navy blue and black small squared cashmere scarf with pilling and a silvery snowflake pattern embroidered on the ends. He received it from his parents last year as a Christmas gift. I know how fond of it he is, even if it weren't expensive as shit and extremely soft and cuddly.

It's the value of his parents contacting him for the first time ever since Reiner and him eloped together. I've seen this scarf bringing tears of joy to his olive green eyes. He spilled even more tears on that season's greetings card with an old family portrait of the Hoovers. I've never seen someone sobbing so happily before, but I can tell you it was sort of heart-warming.

Of course, Reiner insisted, this scarf was just a half-assed apology. After all what they had gone through I could kind of understand his reasoning. But Bertholdt was adamant and willing to forgive his parents' former disapproval easily and swore to treat this little gift like a treasure.

Which he still does, obviously.

He also keeps frequently exchanging letters and postcards nowadays with his parents and they learned to accept that Berthold couldn't be any happier with anybody else than Reiner. Bertholdt showed me some of their letters when he felt like sharing, because when Reiner would just snort at the carefully chosen words, I would share Bertl's happiness with smiles and encouraging words. He deserves it.  

I smile fondly at the memory as I fetch two big-sized cups from my hanging locker and put some cocoa powder inside.

Hot cocoa is the drink one needs to have in situations like that. With loads of whipped cream on top and Marshmallows and sprinkles. Bertholdt, knees drawn to his chest and slumping into himself on my bed, looks up at me with a sympathetic, yet watery smile when I hand him his mug.  

“I... uh... added some rum, too.” I say, sitting down beside him on the colorful patchwork blanket which serves as my bedspread.

Remember that I said each of us can't afford food, because we don't get paid? Well, that's not completely true. We do get a free-choice-treat every month from the circus management. (Basically, because Levi refuses to renounce his beloved Earl Grey Tea) Picking alcohol will be worth two month, though. Well, I always make sure I have everything in stock for hot cocoa with rum, whipped cream, marshmallows and sprinkles. I don't like pure rum very much so the bottle mostly lasts for half a year.

“Thanks.” He sniffles and lazily wipes a tear from his right eye before he indulges himself in the warm, brown liquid. I cast a soft smile at him and curl up at his side, absentmindedly starting to run my fingers through his brown locks.

My phone, which I abandoned the moment I saw Bertholdt crying outside with a duffel bag in his hand, starts buzzing again. Jean's probably worried so I sent him a short text that I can't text any longer for the rest of the evening. Even though Bertholdt first protests. He doesn't protest any more, though, when I tell him who's texting me. He's still adamant about his opinion regarding Jean.

Bertholdt didn't yet explain, why he's here or why he needs to crash in my caravan, but my wild guess is that he got in a fight with Reiner. I can tell he's miserable and a sobbing mess by the soft hiccuping sounds he tries to stifle so that I can't render how broken he is exactly. It's kind of a bad sign. They must have had a huge fight.

One of the kind they had when Reiner suspected Bertholdt and Annie had a secret affair of some sort. I remember that, when he confronted his taciturn lover, they soon talked themselves into rage and accused each other of various things. They even relented on picking on each other's most prominent flaws and insulting each other in horrible, horrible ways.

They didn't exchange words for weeks and Bertholdt crashed at my place every night, sobbing in his sleep, eating even less than usual and seeking comfort in my arms. I didn't mind that he was infiltrating my personal space but I remember being endlessly worried.

You must know, I think of Bertholdt and Reiner like my parents in a way. They take care of me, they protect me, they are proud of me whenever I do things right. Seeing them fighting is like witnessing your parents shredding each other in front of your eyes, I swear.

It was indescribably horrible. Reiner suffered during these weeks of absolute separation, judging by the growing rings under his eyes. Krista took mainly care of him so I don't really know and I'm not really one to pry, even though I had been curious.  

Well, eventually Reiner lost his nerves during one sword-swallowing training session and ended up with a pretty severe cut down his throat.

It took him two weeks in coma in ICU to gain his consciousness after his emergency tracheotomy surgery and about another month till he got finally released. He hadn't been able to talk for a good amount of that time. And after his release it had been a pain in the ass for him to return to work. His performance had been cancelled for almost half a year.

But thanks God he didn't die during this whole procedure.

Despite their earlier fights, Bertholdt spent each and every second at his side, even in ICU, though, the nurses had been denying access at first. He wasn't a blood-related member of Reiner's family and he wasn't his wife. But the tall, usually calm man had been fighting tooth and nail for the first time in his life with the hospital staff. And he finally got to see his lover.

Later on he took care of Reiner at home, treating the bulky blonde through acute fevers and holding his hand even though he probably didn't notice due to drug-ridden states and fever dreams.

Understandable, that Bertholdt still hates it when Reiner practices on sword swallowing techniques... though the blonde kind of focuses more on fire-breathing now for his lover's sake.

Which brings me back to the present.

Shifting in my seating arrangement for about five minutes of neither one of us speaking a word, I finally can't stand the silence between us any longer. I sigh in surrender and finish my own cup of cocoa quickly, before nudging Bertholdt's knee with mine. I would never push anyone to tell me anything, but I know Bertholdt wouldn't initiate conversation on his own accord. The taciturn contortionist was never the kind of person to speak his thoughts or talk about Feelings if not coaxed a little. He always bottles everything up inside if he isn't interrogated thoroughly. So, I simply look at him asking him with my eyes alone what happened.

He sighs resignedly. “Sorry, Marco. It's just some stupid f-fight between me and Reiner. Nothing that couldn't be solved." His voice cracks slightly.  "B-but I'd rather stay away from him for a night or two, if that's okay? I don't want to bother you, though...” He asks with a tang of guilt to his voice. He probably thinks he ruined my late night plans... as if I had any plans to begin with. 

I shake my head and wrap one arm around him, assuring him, soothing him. I didn't have any plans for tonight apart from texting Jean. But even if I had Bertl would always be priority. I'd skip all my plans for helping one of my family members.

“Don't worry, Bertholdt. We're family. And whatever happened, happens or will happen, I'll be there for you, whenever you need me.” I assure him, gently squeezing his hand which is resting on his knee with mine. I'd be there for Reiner, too. No second guessing. But he isn't here in my caravan right now and he's more emotionally anchored than Bertholdt nine times out of ten.

Besides, as I said before, he prefers to be around Krista in such situations. She somehow manages to deal better with Reiner's frustration, I have to admit. It's all about her natural gift, I suppose.

Bertl smiles a little and tilts his head slightly to the side, so that his head rests against mine. “...Yeah.” He says, then goes silent again.

This time, though, the silence is comfortable. There is no necessity of forced idle small talk or a movie to keep us distracted, just us, sitting there on my bed and enjoying each other's company. Nice and calm. I close my eyes, letting the sunbeams filtering through the venetians of my caravan's windows warm my face, and just focus on breathing. His and mine. Merely existing seems a nice change to our usual stressful days.

I don't know how long we sit there in silence, but certainly some time passed and when Bertholdt finally speaks up again I have to lazily blink my eyes open. I almost fell asleep beside him. "I need to tell you something...” He mumbles and buries himself deeper into his crouching position. I honestly don't have the slightest how a guy as tall and broad as Bertholdt manages to appear so small and vulnerable.

His eyes are glazed, but they look at me in determination and before he even says a word, I suddenly know that, what he's about to tell me, will be something grave. I can see the pain and the conflict reflecting in his eyes and swallow hard. Just then the arm I had wrapped around him somehow slips and I topple over face-planting myself directly into his chest. Unfortunate Timing...

_Way to go, Marco,_ I groan inwardly and try to straighten up again, but Bertholdt's arms quickly wrap around my frame and keep me locked in this uncomfortable position.

And it just so happens that Bertholdt releases a soft chuckle. "You're still so clumsy at times, like a newborn fawn trying to stand up for the first time on stilty legs. One wouldn't expect you to be an aerialist."

"Oh, shut up." I quip and smack his arm for emphasize. "That's all I get for trying to comfort you?"

I want to straighten up again, but Bertholdt's arms won't let go off me, smushing my face closer into his toned belly. As much as this is uncomfortable, I don't stand a chance against Bertholdt's strength, so I give up on struggling free and let him keep me the way I am. I like to think he just needs something to hold onto, something to anchor him. Like a huge teddy bear. And I'm willing to be the one, if it makes him feel better.

We remain like that for the longest time, I don't quite remember how long exactly, but my back starts aching and my legs become numb underneath my body weight. Finally, though, he speaks up, his voice trembling as tears start to spill and drop onto my scalp. And as he does so, I feel the world around me freeze before it shrapnels to pieces.

“W-we'll be leaving..." He sobs. "T-the cir... the circus I m-mean.” His body shakes slightly. I'm unable to move so I can't look at his face, but I bet it's all scrunched up in misery. “I-I mean, Reiner. He... he j-just bought an apartment in our... in our old h-hometown.”

My eyes widen, my heart races, my body feels like it's hollow inside but also as heavy as lead. This can't be happening. I feel the nausea of panic licking at my intestines.

_Calm down, Marco. Calm down._

"I-I didn't want it... not yet." Bertholdt continues in tears. "H-he just decided it's time to... to leave the sinking ship!"

_Berthold needs you now, Marco. He doesn't need a fretful angst-ridden, panic-stricken wreck having a panic attack._

"A-and he expects me to be h-happy.... fu-fucking happy that he decided such important things o-over my head. Without asking! What does h-he think I'd d-do?"

I don't realize that my fingers claw into Bertholdt's thigh until I hear a pained hiss. Finally he lets go of me and I stumble backwards, leaning against the pillow nest I had created earlier like I'm driven on auto-pilot. Everything's blank for a moment or two and I cannot filter a single thought from the chaos that's spinning in my mind.

I feel at loss for words.

 

I feel petrified. 

It must be written all over my face, because instantly Bertholdt shoots forward. "I'm so sorry, Marco. Sorry, I forgot..." He wraps his arms around me once again, rubbing soothing patterns all over my back and nuzzling my hair. “Breathe. Please, just breathe. In and out.” he mumbles and I try to follow his instructions, inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling through my mouth in ragged sobs.

Damn. I'm so useless. Bertholdt came to me. I should be comforting him, not the other way around. I'm such a sorry excuse for a good friend. I shake my head slightly and wrap my arms around him.

"N-no, I'm... I'm sorry, Bertholdt. I'm sorry." I hiccup into his shoulder.

We hold each other for a while until we withdraw, my forehead pressing against his. Both with red rimmed eyes and sniffling. We must be a pitiful sight to any onlookers and a snotty, bubbling laugh escapes my mouth at the thought.

“W-will you go with him?” I hear myself croaking, (Is that really my voice?) while wiping my eyes and cheeks, ridding them of any tear stains.

Despite me feeling the mere thought of them leaving me trigger my fears again, I want to be happy for them. Both of them mean so much for me. And they deserve to be so happy after all they've gone through in life.

Returning to their hometown and living there together... that would be their dreams coming true finally. How could I ever begrudge them such happiness? They saved money for this for such a long time already always telling us about what they would do once they settled down. They'd think about marriage even, just to spite the homophobes of their former home.

 

I should have seen it coming.

Still, hurt is an ugly creature which coils around my intestines with its ugly shape, raising it's equally ugly head every now and then. And I feel ashamed and guilty for thinking such selfish things like 'don't just leave me'.

Bertholdt deflates slightly and sighs. “I want to. Seriously. I mean we've dreamed and talked about this for ages, but... I don't know... it doesn't feel right at the moment.” He says, still absentmindedly stroking my back.

Somehow I manage to straighten myself and smile at Bertholdt like people smile at kids when they say something endearingly stupid. He's serious, I can see that as well as I can hear it from his voice, but he's still being incredibly stupid.

“Don't be silly, Bertholdt. You know you love him." I say surprisingly calmly. "You two are meant to be. And you will go with him. And you will be happy.”

It's the truth. If Bertholdt and Reiner aren't the epitome of a full-functional, perfect, homosexual couple, then who by-the-love-of-Christ is?

He sighs again, looking at me with his sad, green eyes like a beaten puppy. Then he swings one of his never-ending legs over my waist and straddles me, knees on either side of my thighs and him being on top of me. He gently nudges me backwards until I'm lying flush on the mattress of my bed. Bending down, he presses his forehead against the crook of my neck and we stay like this for a couple of moment, before we share some chaste kisses.

They don't mean a thing with regards to romanticism. It's just some sort of release. Frustration, stress, depression, whatever the reason... it doesn't matter. I let him do as he likes. It's all the comfort I can offer at the moment and he takes it eagerly.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly aware of how intimate this must seem to you and, yes, it is a very intimate moment.

I told you before, Reiner, Bertholdt and I are close, didn't I? After all I experienced my first experiences in the deep waters of homoerotic sexual intercourse with them. Sometimes it's just one of them... well, mostly Bertholdt.

Reiner stays away from me. Not, because we don't get along so well, but because he doesn't want to mentally scar me too much. He thinks I have enough problems of my own and he fears he might hurt my feelings or something if he uses me to calm his inner demons. I already mentioned he's a molten marshmallow on the inside, didn't I?

On top of that Bertholdt and I are somewhat more similar. The chemistry works better between us, because we understand the other one's pain better and know ways to soothe it. Without words.

Although wouldn't say that they are using me at all. I gain from this arrangement myself most of the times. We are just open-minded like this. And between Berthold and Reiner there's never been jealousy issues ever since that supposed Annie-affair. Ever since then they trust each other endlessly, like they were bound together even more due to that incident.

I just intermingle for the thrill of a threesome or the sake of comfort every once in a while. That's all. And every participating or not-participating party knows that.

Bertholdt snakes his arms around my torso and his fingers coil around the fabric of my Shirt on my back. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, sucking at the sensitive skin there. My breath hitches in a gasp and buck my hips, while his chuckle reverberates through his chest. I start running my hand through his hair in a, what I'm hoping, comforting manner.

“You're right, Marco. Thanks." He mumbles, licking the over the delicateness of my jugular, eliciting a moan from my lips. "I'll go with him. Even though I think it... mmmh... it's not the best of motivation. I know it's reasonable thinking... hhhh... but...“ I feel him relaxing under my caress and he stops nipping at my jawbone in favor of looking at me. “...come with us, Marco.”

Gone is the sexual tension. My eyes snap open. I hadn't been aware that I squinted them shut earlier.

Bertholdt sits up now and looks down at me. His eyes reflect tension and desperation. He's begging me. Even though he must know what my answer will be.

It hurts so much to reject him in that moment, but I just can't agree to that.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, shaking my head and wetting my dry lips with the tip of my tongue. A pained choking laughter slips from my mouth in a failed attempt at coating my raw emotions with a reassuring smile. The tears, barely gone, sting again in my eyes.

“I can't... B-Bert... you know I can't... and I... I won't. I'm sorry.” Gently I cup his cheek and run my thumb over his cheekbone. He nuzzles my hand, closing his eyes for a few heartbeats. Then he winces and draws back, biting his bottom lip. I can tell he's hurting, as he rolls onto his back onto the mattress beside me with that scrunched up, beaten-puppy face, even though he nods in understanding.   

Of course, living with Bertholdt and Reiner sounds appealing, I will not deny that. As I said before, we are close and I know they'd just take good care of me and never make me feel like the a third wheel, just because they are enamored with each other, while I am more like a friend with benefits to them.

But the thing is, I wouldn't fit in. I know it. Settlement isn't meant for me.

Ever since my first poor attempts at ballet, I am an artist at heart. Settling down and working like any ordinary human completely goes against my grain. I have tried before; simple jobs, like working as a barista or an office clerk or a cashier in retail. None of it appealed to me the way my aerial silk performance does; gliding through the air like a bird in the sky, free and unbound. That's how I want to live my life. At least for now.

Reiner and Bertholdt are slightly different in that way. Where I am naive (because, seriously, how can I believe to live from just that for the rest of my life?), they are more considerate and down to earth.

“When will you...?” I start. But my voice collapses mid sentence into hiccups and I feel again the hot sensation of tears against the skin on my cheeks. I choke on my words, before they can even do so much as leave my mouth. And I feel so fucking pathetic and useless.

Warm arms wrap around my trembling frame once again and pull me into a hug. “Sshhh... not yet. Don't cry, Marco.” A tender kiss is placed against my forehead. "Not yet, not all-too soon."

He cups my face in his hands, gently swiping my tears away with his thumbs. I smile weakly up at him, my sight still blurry from my teary eyes. “I'm sorry. You seek for comfort and now I'm the stupid crybaby... again.” I mumble.

“I never expected any less of you.“ He gives me a crooked smile and presses another kiss on my forehead, before he releases my face again, so that I can snuggle closer into his chest. He idly combs his slender fingers through my hair. "It's okay, Marco. Comforting you is something comforting in itself."

I smile at that. So, I'm not utterly useless. Good to know.

Of course, the pain in my chest didn't suddenly evaporate into thin air. It's still there and I know it will linger there for quite some time. The ugly hurting beast won't vanish easily. But for now, all I wanna do, is to relax in Bertholdt's warm embrace.

“You're still my little baby-boy.” he purrs with a chuckle.

I groan. “Oh shuddup. Better tell me, why are you fighting with Reiner, when it's already decided?”

His heavy sigh tells volumes about how this fight between them is nagging on him. “It's far from decided, Marco. I'm still not fully convinced that it's the right thing to do, I s'pose. And he gets tired of my indecisiveness. And I'm angry because he bought an apartment without asking me..."

"You're both so thick-headed." I interject earning another low, rumbling chuckle.

"Well, I know he meant it to be a surprise, but still. That's a big step. And...” He shrugs. “I guess I feel like he kind of forewent me with that decision.”

I look up at the tall man and shake my head. “Stubborn as mules. Both of you.”

“Basically... yes.” He retorts with a soft snicker and ruffles my hair, before he yawns, quickly wraps a blanket around us and places his chin on top of my head. “I know, that you don't think all-too-great of yourself, but you...” He hesitates, pondering a few seconds. “Marco,... you're the best.”

I snuggle closer to him and smile. The same words Reiner used not so long ago.

They are meant to be.

I wish I had someone like that in my life.

Before the silky blackness of a dreamless sleep overcomes me, I can see Jean's lopsided smile popping up in my head...

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**Author's Note:**

> Each and every comment, kudo, bookmark or even hit makes my day a little bit brighter~ Thanks for reading, guys!
> 
> tumblr: bodtmaster (Come over, say hello and spill your ideas or critzism. I jut want to get to know you guy out there~ :3)
> 
> Please feel free to inform me about errors and/or mistakes. ^^


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